Escape (The Prisoner and the Sun #1)

by Brad Magnarella

  “I appreciate your offer. But my decision is made.”

  “Is it?” Euclid said. “I have named my terms and apparently come up short. How about you name yours? It’s only fair. Go on, I might surprise you with what I’m willing to agree to. ‘My decision is made.’ Ha! It is my experience that all decisions are final until met by more favorable terms. Go on, name yours.”

  Iliff shook his head. “I’ve acquired quite enough here.”

  “Go on,” he cried. “Ask for the trolls in my charge, ask for the treasures in my room. Ask for a stake in the mines. Ask for it all!” He narrowed his eyes. “I know your heart’s desires.”

  “My only desire is to be on my way again.” He hesitated. “To—to seek the Sun.”

  “Oh yes, the Sun.” Euclid spoke in a sing-song voice. “Let me ask you something. If there really was such a thing, where has it been these past years? Where was it when I was feeding and sheltering you, giving you honest work, growing your wealth? Well? Where was it when I was protecting you? Do you believe you would have survived in here for a minute without my patronage? The trolls would have eaten you alive.” He glowered from his chair. “Here I have given you life and all that might be hoped for, and you cast it off as though it were some trifling thing, a detour in your wanderings to nowhere, to destitution and ruin. Fool!”

  Iliff squeezed the damp napkin inside his fist. He could stand the man’s derisions no longer.

  “See here!” he said. “Never have I denied your patronage. I recognized it. And in exchange I have given in time and faithful service, as was our agreement. I owe you nothing more.” He paused long enough to smooth the napkin over his lap again. “As for the Sun, I stopped seeking it. That’s exactly why I must leave now and begin my search anew.”

  “But why the sudden change?” Euclid squinted at him. “Have you seen something? Heard something?”

  Iliff wanted to expose the man’s deception, to make him answer for the horrors of this place. But there was Troll to consider.

  “No,” Iliff said.

  Euclid scowled and poured himself more wine. He drew a dagger from a gold scabbard at his belt. Between sips he held it to the candle light and turned the slender blade. Though Iliff kept his face composed, he slipped his right leg around the side of his chair. Euclid’s eyes flicked toward him, their sudden intensity like the sharp openings of the furnace. But he sighed at last and returned the dagger to its scabbard.

  “Trolls!” he called.

  Four large trolls lumbered from the sides of the room and stood on either side of the gold chair. Euclid whispered to them at length. Their grotesque heads turned to Iliff, then back to Euclid.

  Iliff knew that if he did not act now, he would not have another chance.

  “If this is about the eight treasures owed to me,” he called, “I have a proposal.” He spoke with as much authority as he could muster.

  Euclid stopped whispering and looked up.

  “I would like to exchange them for the troll who has watched over me during my time here,” Iliff said. “I want him to come with me.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “To carry my treasures,” Iliff replied. “And to act as my protector in the world out there.”

  Euclid’s face clenched as though preparing to spew forth the unspeakable. But just as he was opening his mouth, his expression changed. It relaxed, easing back into the fleshy folds of his neck.

  “An interesting proposal,” he said at length. He set his chin on his thumb and forefinger. “To carry his treasures… act as his protector… Yes, yes, an interesting proposal indeed. Hmm, though being among the largest and smartest of my trolls, he is perhaps worth more than eight treasures, but wait a moment now, let’s see.”

  He mumbled to himself some more, squinted beyond Iliff. At last he signaled for the trolls to withdraw.

  “All right,” he said. “I will grant your request. In exchange for the eight treasures owed you, I give over the services of my troll.”

  Iliff fumbled for his words. “I—I thank you, that is—” He felt like someone who had been putting his shoulder to a door only to have it open suddenly.

  Euclid held up a stubby finger. “But…”

  Iliff stopped and stiffened.

  “…should you discover that the world out there is other than you believe, should you see that it is indeed as barren and hostile as I have told you, then you will return to me. I will look after you, of course, reward you as before, but the opportunity to leave will be forever shut.” His eyes became hard. “Are we agreed?”

  Iliff breathed again. There was no chance of his returning.

  “I agree,” he said.

  “Good, very good.” Euclid smiled. “Since you have lost your thirst for wine, I cannot offer a toast. Perhaps you will accept my handshake? Very good. I apologize for my outburst earlier, I’m afraid I have a bit of a temper. But let’s not dwell on the unpleasant things.” He stood. “You have a gift, my friend. Indeed, my gold has never shone so well. It is my sincerest hope that you will return one day.”

  He gave Iliff’s hand a hard final squeeze. “In the meantime, may my troll safeguard your treasures and keep you well.”

  “Thank you.” Iliff said. “And farewell.”

  Iliff gathered his cloak and walked the length of the gold rug. He was nearly to the door, nearly free of that awful place, when from behind him he heard Euclid snapping his fingers, as if he were just remembering something.

  “Oh, the troll! Do send it in for a moment. I wish to explain our transaction. It has been in my service its entire life, after all.”

  “Yes,” Iliff said. “Of course.”

  Iliff waited in the anteroom with the bags. As time passed, he became more and more apprehensive. Perhaps Troll had been right, he thought. Perhaps Euclid did know about their trip into the mines. Was he interrogating Troll at that moment? Having him punished?

  At last his companion emerged. His stony face betrayed nothing.

  “It’s done,” he said. “I’m yours.”

  Chapter 12

  Troll led the way with a torch. Their route was roundabout, going through an old and little-used section of the mine. It was what Iliff had wanted in order to avoid run-ins with the other trolls, as well as to keep Euclid from guessing at their route—in case he changed his mind.

  Iliff and Troll walked through crumbling sections of tunnel. Torch brackets, dismembered tools, broken wheels, and collapsed scaffolding littered the way. They eventually came to a place where the tunnel had fallen in completely. A pile of large stones blocked the way, causing Iliff to throw his arms up.

  “Please tell me there’s a way around.”

  Troll set down the sack of treasures and looked over the cave-in. “Here,” he said, handing the torch to Iliff. “Stand back.”

  Troll set his legs and began pulling boulders from the obstructing pile. He dropped some to the side and rolled others down the tunnel they had come up by. Iliff listened to them grind and echo off into the darkness. He had known Troll was powerful but had seen nothing like this. Iliff found a perch on the tunnel wall and watched his companion work, watched his fingers bite into stone, watched the muscles swell from his body like giant ropes. In the last days Iliff had worried that Troll would hinder his journey. Now he could only chuckle and shake his head.

  Before long, the way was clear. They came to other collapses, some minor, some calamitous, but Troll cleared them all.

  They had just worked their way past another cave-in when Troll stopped suddenly and raised his head. Iliff stopped right behind and peered to either side. Troll eased forward, craning his neck, sniffing the air. Iliff’s pulse quickened.

  “What is it?” he whispered.

  Troll said nothing. He was stooped near the side of the tunnel now, still sniffing. At last he lifted something that had been leaning there: a pick-axe. Iliff looked around them. In front of Troll was a cart. Beyond him, a fallen torch.

  “Of course!”
Iliff called out. “This is it!”

  For indeed, it was the very place Troll had snatched Iliff up those years ago and carried him screaming into the mines. And here they were again, Iliff thought, except now he was carrying Troll out, in a manner of speaking.

  Troll sifted through a pile of rubble, as if out of old habit, then straightened himself. He grunted and turned to Iliff.

  Iliff pointed to the bend in the tunnel. “This was the way I came, if you remember. I spilled candle wax to mark the way back, but that was almost four years ago. I fear it’s all covered over now.”

  “Give me a candle.”

  Iliff searched through his bag and handed one to Troll, who lifted it to his nose, sniffed, and then handed it back. He bent forward until his face was nearly to the floor and went ahead in this manner, sniffing and snuffing. When they reached a junction, he probed each passage.

  “Here,” Troll called.

  Iliff came up beside him and lowered the torch. Troll blew the debris from the stone floor, and there they were: three hard splotches.

  “Very good,” Iliff cried, clapping Troll on the back.

  Troll’s sense of smell did not fail from there. Splotches led to more splotches and on and up they went. Soon, the stone broke apart and gave way to hard earth. Iliff had nearly forgotten the look and feel of it.

  Then there was another sight Iliff had nearly forgotten: soft light.

  He ran ahead to where the light warmed the mouth of the tunnel. He emerged into the junction and leapt onto the stone where he had taken his lunch that day, as if it were an old friend. When he jumped down, he was in his old passageway, the one he had nearly forsaken. The roots were even fuller and more plentiful than he remembered. He drove his hands into their tangle and pressed his cheek against them, all the while vowing to never stray from the path again.

  Moments later Troll emerged and stepped past the stone. He peered up and down the passageway, then retreated a step. He glanced back to the tunnel.

  “Don’t worry,” Iliff said. “Your eyes need time to adjust. They’ve known nothing but darkness and fire until now. Here, let’s snuff out the torch. We’ll go slowly.”

  They followed the tunnel for a long time, Iliff leading the way. The tunnel wound and climbed and opened into more tunnels, but there was never a doubt as to the correct course. The light became ever clearer, the roots ever larger. At last they came to a long, steep section where the roots jumped and coursed into one another, and the far end glowed with the clearest light yet.

  Iliff looked back. Troll had fallen behind. He was stooped over, one hand to his eyes, the other clutching the sack of treasures. Iliff glanced ahead and then back to his companion.

  “Take your time,” he called. “I’m going to see what’s ahead.”

  Troll waved his hand and Iliff scrambled up the incline. His heart raced as he peered toward the light. He pulled on the roots until he reached the top. There he stood in confusion.

  Just ahead, the way forked into two tunnels, but so too did the roots. He peered down each one. He tried to decide if there was more light in one, tried counting the roots running along the walls. But except for their divergent courses, the tunnels appeared exactly the same.

  Iliff looked at Troll who was just beginning the steep ascent.

  “The path splits from here,” he called down. “I’m going to take the right one, you take the left. We’ll call to the other if we see a way out.”

  “Wait…”

  But Iliff was already inside the rightmost tunnel, already running around its gradual leftward bend. His bag slapped his back with every stride. Soon the tunnel straightened and Iliff slowed, then stared. An opening gaped before him. Roots swarmed the edges through which the light entered. It was the cleanest, most extraordinary light Iliff had ever seen.

  He started to laugh and then stopped, for something was streaming past him, something he could not see. It cooled his face and lifted the cloak from around his legs and made it flutter.

  Chapter 13

  Iliff stepped through the draft and into the dull glare of a landscape that immediately overwhelmed him. His first instinct was to withdraw into the tunnel, where there was solidness all around and the ways were finite. Instead, he drew the verge of his cloak to his brow and cast his gaze downward.

  His boots were set among knotted roots on the side of an embankment. The bank sloped through a tangle of undergrowth to a vast carpet of ferns that lifted and fell in gentle swells, giving rise to what looked like many pillars. Some of them were slender and pale, others bold and powerful. He held his cloak to his brow and craned his neck and inhaled sharply, for in the course of their ascent, the pillars branched and opened into a flowering understory of many colors. Bright whites and yellows, pinks and violets: colors he had never seen. The colors were reminiscent of the doors of Adramina’s dwelling. Nothing like the slate of the prison or the grit and dark of the mines. He blinked, for it hurt to look for very long.

  Above the flowering branches, the trees climbed higher still. Iliff leaned his head back and back until his cloak fell from his brow. The highest branches spread and overlapped into a faraway dome of rustling green, like many waving hands. They mirrored the ferns below and, like the ferns, stretched away as far as he could see.

  Iliff became dizzy; the dome wheeled into a slow spin. He reached for the root beside him and held to it. For a moment he was not sure if he would be able to venture out there. This world seemed too vast, too varied—too much. He feared that if he stepped outside, it would swallow him. The thought quickened his breathing. He closed his eyes but did not retreat.

  He counted slowly to three, then opened his eyes and stepped over the roots. When his boot crushed the leaf litter, it was as if a spell were broken. The forest came to life. The undergrowth rustled and scattered. Small bushy-haired creatures sprang to the sides of trees where they watched him with small black eyes, their tails switching. Iliff stared back in amazement. Their arrival on the trees set the bark in motion, as if water were trickling up and down its length. Iliff soon realized it was not water but the scramblings of sleek little creatures that, in their prior stillness, had blended invisibly with the colors of the trees.

  Something moved in Iliff’s periphery and he turned in time to catch the flash of a bird’s flight. Another followed close behind, and soon they were coloring the air all around him. The birds swept into the trees, where they dipped and fluttered between branches and broke into fine song.

  Iliff stood watching all of this, and for the first time in a long while he allowed a smile to break forth. A real smile. One that lightened his bearing and elevated his spirits. It arose from the movement and the songs around him, yes, but also from his realization that if such small creatures could thrive out here, so could he.

  He picked his way down toward the forest floor. With each step came chirps and trills, bursts of humming, rapid chatter, ever more intricate songs. The novel sounds startled and delighted him.

  Iliff waded into the ferns. The air of the forest floor was fresh and cool. He imagined it swimming inside him, breaking up the smoke and blackness of the mines. He leaned back and breathed it in. The world around him still felt enormous—more than anything he had imagined or could have imagined—but now he could see its beneficence. For everywhere he looked there was life, beautiful life. He ran his hand over the tree beside him, felt the homely shag of green-gray moss that covered one side. Even this is living, he thought. Even this is beautiful.

  He suddenly remembered Troll and wheeled around to the steep embankment. He was preparing to climb back up to the opening when he observed the deep shadow of another opening in the bank, away off to his right. There, crouching just inside a swarm of roots, was the stony image of his companion.

  “Hullo!” Iliff called.

  Troll stuck his head forward, but as soon as the light touched his brow, he howled and shrank back inside the tunnel.

  “I can’t bear it!”

  “
Close your eyes! Follow my voice!”

  Troll wrinkled his face and set a foot out into the undergrowth. One hand hid his eyes while the other clung to the sack of treasures. He emerged in a low stoop.

  “Here!” Iliff called.

  Troll directed himself toward Iliff. Troll did not seem quite as large or powerful here, where the landscape was vast and trees towered above his head. His skin appeared paler than it had in the shadows of the mines, his coils of hair much darker.

  “Here… here… here!”

  Troll plodded and stumbled down the bank. Iliff could not help but feel sorry for him. He met his companion as he stepped onto the forest floor, his chiseled feet sinking deep into the soil.

  “We’re here,” Iliff said. “We’re out, at last.”

  “What good is being out if it means going blind?” Troll fanned his fingers from his eyes, then cursed and closed them. “Is this how I’m to go? Always with one hand to my blasted eyes?”

  “I told you, they just need time to adjust. No more than a few days, I imagine.”

  Troll frowned. Iliff laughed and patted his broad flank. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll guide you in the meantime.”

  “The Boss said we’d die out here.”

  “Is that what he told you?” Iliff’s smile tightened. “Well, he also said this place was a wasteland. But as I look about, I see nothing but life. Why, the very space we stand in teems with it. Yes, I know you can’t see, but open your ears for a moment and listen. There! Do you hear that song? Do you hear the way it rises? And just over there, listen, it’s being answered. And with even more joy. Do you call this place a wasteland? Do you consider that song a herald of death?”