by kubasik
At first J'role only listened to his own voice, his eyes shut as he imagined the city of his words. But as he continued, he began to look around at the crowd. They stared at him with wide eyes, their lips parted slightly, as if thirsty for his words. Soon many began to smile, and J'role realized that the description invoked in them a wonder—the same wonder that drove him forward toward the city. The same wonder his own father had inspired in the people of his kaer. He was telling them of their world's past and of the future that might await them.
The villagers stood around him enraptured. He was giving them dreams. They wanted to hear his words.
As his mouth and tongue worked themselves into words and sentences, tears began to form and roll down his cheeks. He didn't notice them at first. When he did, they confused him.
Why? Why am I crying? he thought. The creature made no comment, but J'role knew the words he spoke were not those of the thing in his mind. He had the attention o f the crowd, and his words gave them pleasure. But the ideas he spoke came from somewhere else, a place he could not understand. Whatever pleasure he took from these people was a lie.
He pulled the ring off his finger, the metal burning icy cold against his flesh as he gripped it in his palm. The crowd parted for him. He grabbed his father's hand, then walked on past them, followed by Garlthik. The crowd remained silent.
He had to keep moving. He had to hide from Mordom. He had to reach the city first. In that moment J'role had no idea why. It was just something to focus on. Something to do, to keep busy, so the hurting didn't eat out his heart with its intensity.
J'role hated his father. It was early afternoon, and the two of them were seated in the shade of a tall rock. Garlthik rested on another rock nearby, letting the warmth of the sun wash over him. .
As J'role stared, his father picked at the grains of dirt scattered along the ground, holding them up before his face, grinning in wonderment like a child. Twice he tried to show the sand to J'role, and the second time J'role knocked his father's hand away sharply.
Cradling his hand against his chest, protecting the sand, his father looked hurt for a moment, as if about to cry. Then he apparently lost interest in trying to please J'role, and fell to staring at the sand once more. "Drink?" his father said to no one in particular.
J'role stood, the rest over. His father, confused, looked up. J'role leaned down and extended his hand, taking his father's wrist, helping him up. He'd learned to keep hold of his father at all times. If not carefully tended to, Bevarden would go wandering off somewhere.
The creature said, "I don't know how you go on."
"Quiet." The creature had offered neither support nor suggestions of suicide of late, only odd sarcastic comments. Ever since J'role had found the ring, the thing in his head had become different from all the other years it bad shared his thoughts. It seemed, in fact, somewhat confused.
"Drink?” his father asked. He shivered slightly, though the air was warm, and wrapped his arms around himself.
For two more days they walked, traveling as quickly as they could to stay ahead of Mordom. Garlthik eased J'role's concerns about Mordom's chariot—a rare magical device that could only be used once, he said. Apparently Mordom thought being trapped in the tavern was an emergency worthy of its use. Still, the magician was powerful and wily, and they did not want to give him the chance to find them.
They ate what food they could find. Hunger came often, and when they passed near a village, J'role was tempted to enter it and steal some food. Garlthik was wary of approaching a village, however, for Mordom always seemed to find him whenever he did so. He preferred to stay in the middle of nowhere, following the magical road.
On the second day after leaving the village, J'role spotted a group of travelers to the south. He thought he made out Mordom's bright robes, but could not be sure. Traveling with the man in the robes were two others: one small and wiry, the other one tall. Slinsk and Phlaren? Again, the group was too far away to be sure.
Following the general direction of the road, J'role and Garlthik dragged Bevarden to the other side o f the hill to avoid detection. Later that night J'role slipped the ring on and found they were still on their way along the road, which appeared just as new and glowing to J'role. When Garlthik put the ring on, the road was old and ruined.
Mordom's group, if that was who it was, seemed to be heading in the same direction.
J'role wondered if Mordom knew something about the city's general location. Maybe he knew much more. J'role wished desperately he could discuss these matters with Garlthik, but he could not. And since the fight with Mordom, Garlthik had become strangely sullen and rarely spoke. He often walked at a distance from J'role and Bevarden.
J'role wondered at first if it might have to with the thing that Mordom had placed in Garlthik's head. But then he decided that no, it was not that. But he was not sure what the reason was.
It was strange traveling with his father and Garlthik. Bevarden alternated between simple minded smiles and open tears. Garlthik brooded. Neither offered conversation, and J’role was silent too. The three of us might as well each be traveling alone, J'role thought.
"Don't forget about me," the creature said. J’role did not-respond.
* * *
"The ring," said the creature. A red haze bled over the western horizon and the eastern sky was turning dark purple. "What?” thought J'role, tired and wishing only to rest.
"What?" he thought again. Why did the creature taunt him so?
"Do it! If you want to find the city, do it!"
The creature's tone so startled J'role that he stopped in his tracks and began to fumble about for the ring on the leather cord.
"Why are you . . . ?" he began to think, but he'd already slipped the ring on.
The sky flashed bright and he stumbled back.
"Father!" he cried. His father did not respond. Garlthik ran up to him.
"What is it? Are you all right?" Garlthik asked.
J'role opened his eyes. Even in the light of the setting sun the brilliant glow of the city on the hill ahead blinded him.
The spires, the towers, the magnificent walls—everything was as J'role had described it.
It shone as brilliantly as if the sun itself had settled on the earth.
"What is it, lad? What do you see?"
J'role responded with his babbling words describing the city. He pointed in the direction of the city.
"Go!" said the creature.
"The city?" Garlthik asked. "Is the city there?" He grabbed at J'role's hands and fumbled to get the ring off. He grabbed so roughly that J'role thought the ork would shatter his bones.
J'role pulled his hands away, then removed the ring before Garlthik could attack again.
He threw the ring to the dirt and fell back.
The city had vanished from J'role's sight.
"Passions," Garlthik said softly. "We've found it." He hesitated only a moment, then charged toward the hill where J'role had seen the city. Forgetting about his father, J'role followed.
Garlthik outdistanced him, and by the time J'role caught up, the ork stood at the top of the hill trying again and again to move forward. Each time, at the same place, he came to a dead stop as if running into a wall, then took a few awkward steps back.
"What is this?" Garlthik cried. "We FOUND it!" He turned toward J'role, gesticulating wildly. "There's a huge fissure in the city wall, but I can't get through!"
J 'role started at this announcement. He had not seen a fissure. The city had-been intact.
Garlthik dropped to his knees and began weeping. He begged to the sky to be allowed in.
"It's empty," Garlthik cried. "Just bones and ruins. Ours for the taking."
Lightly, J'role placed his hand on the ork's shoulder. Garlthik looked up sharply, but his expression softened when he saw J'role. J'role held out his hand, and with slumped shoulders, Garlthik handed over the ring.
J'role placed it on his finger.
Towe
ring white walls stood before him blazing with the light of a thousand stars. Nearby were the gates of the city— also made of the white stone and held in place with massive gold bolts and silver hinges. His mouth began babbling again, the uncontrollable descriptions pouring out. He walked up to the gate, desperate to get inside, and put his hand against the stone to test how heavy it was. Drawing closer he heard the racket of countless voices from the other side of the wall.
His fingertips touched the edge of the massive gate and then passed through. His hand, and then his arm up to his elbow disappeared into the stone. Beyond the gate he felt a kind of nothing. Not the cool air of night. Not the cool air of anything.
He turned toward Garlthik, who only stared at him in confusion. "What do you see?” he asked. "The city? Are you seeing something?”
J'role nodded. He turned back to the gate. Could he get in? He stepped closer, pressing-his other hand through it, then a leg. His chest. The creature in his thoughts began to breathe faster, hungry. Anticipation. Then J'role pressed his face toward the gate ...
And stopped.
He could get no further. It was not like encountering a solid wall. It was more that his muscles seemed to freeze up and refused to move any further. He drew up all the strength he could muster and tried to make himself move forward. His arms began to shake, and he felt his neck muscles tighten and tighten. He gasped even as descriptions of the city continued to flow from his mouth. He heard himself speak of fountains made of flowers that produced wine as pure as the sky, and of wizards that floated about on magic carpets while traveling within the city walls. All he had to do was get inside. They'd be able to cure him! They could cure his father! He knew it had to be true. They were miracle workers. They could do anything!
He felt himself crash to the ground. Immediately he opened his eyes, expecting to see the wonders of the city surrounding him. But all he saw was Garlthik, staring down at him, framed by the night sky. "Sorry. It looked … as if you had stopped breathing. I was frightened."
J'role jumped back up and charged the gate, then felt himself slammed out just as his body began to enter. Over and over again he tried to enter the city, and soon the creature in his head was screaming and wailing in his thoughts, screeching for J'role to do something until J'role stopped speaking of the city and began screaming and wailing as well.
He lost all sense of time and place and was startled to-find Garlthik shaking him. "We have to go. You've made so much noise, and Mordom might be near. We have go to now."
"No," said the creature in his thoughts. J role felt it sliding quickly in his mind, fidgety and desperate. "Don't go. Wait for the wizard. If he comes he'll show you how to get in.
He'll know how."
"No. He'll kill me."
"No, he won't. Just wait."
"We have to go now," Garlthik said again.
The longing consumed J'role now, and he wanted only to get into the city. Everything —
everything—he'd ever wanted waited within its walls. His voice. His mother's love. A father he could count on. If only he could get in.
He shook of Garlthik's hand and began to walk the length of the wall running east from the gate.
"What are you doing?" asked the ork.
Looking for some kind of entrance, J'role made his way along the walls pressing his hands into the permeable stone, so cold to the touch.
Something! He glanced up every few feet, scanning the towering walls for a window or a mark. Seeing nothing, he continued on. At certain spots he placed his hand through the surface of the wall, but as before, he could feel nothing beyond the wall.
He thought suddenly of his father. But the creature in his thoughts said, "If you're going to search, search. Keep moving!
"Yes," he thought and turned his attention back to the wall. Large stone blocks, about one yard by one yard their joints nearly imperceptible, formed the wall. He knew little of stonework, yet the perfect cuts and joints of the stones could not be ignored; whomever had built the city must have used magic in cutting the stone and building the wall.
Admiration for the monumental achievement spurred him on, for again he appreciated the power of the people living inside the walls of the city. But how to get in? Why didn't they come out?
His mouth was going numb, and despair drifted into his soul. He slipped the ring off his finger. The city, the road . . . everything vanished from sight. He stood near the top of a wide, flat hilltop, Garlthik dozens of yards away.
He ran past where the road would be if he could have seen it, and then put the ring back on.
Now he saw nothing but what he had seen before. He ran forward, toward Garlthik.
When he had gone far enough to be outside the walls of the city, the city's brilliant light glowed from behind him. He collapsed to the ground in frustration.
"Someone is coming," said Garlthik, walking up to him. "We can't get in. I don't think Mordom can either. But we have to go." In the distance J'role saw a group of people approaching, one of them carrying the torch. At some point it had become night.
He scrambled up and ran down the hill to find his father, which took much longer than he would have liked. The man sat silently on the ground staring at the stars, tears in his eyes.
All the while J'role was searching, the creature insisted that he wait for Mordom to arrive.
"No," he shouted back in his thoughts. Then he and Bevarden met up with Garlthik and they stole off into the night.
They had gotten only a quarter of a mile away when Garlthik whispered harshly, "Down.
Get down." J'role dropped to the ground, dragging his father behind him. Bevarden, who had been shaking for some time, gave out a startled gasp. The three of them rolled into the base of a shallow ditch. J'role looked over the lip of the ditch, staring back toward the hill where they had seen the city.
The orange flame of torches bobbed in the distance. "It's them," Garlthik said softly. "I know it's them. I knew I should never have trusted that wizard. Something about him.
Never stops. I hate people like that."
J'role looked up at Garlthik in surprise.
"Except myself, of course," he said with a smile. "Come. We'd bests get a move on. It's dark. They won't spot us as long as we stay in these gullies. We should be able to stay ahead of them."
The boy touched the ork's shoulder, then shrugged, then pointed.
"Ah, where are we going?" Garlthik asked, voicing J'role's silent question. "Well, I think I know where we might get some help finding out about the mysterious city. I don't know for sure, but it's worth a try. Down south of here."
He got up, but J'role caught his arm, and shrugged once more. "Who are we going to see?" the ork asked. "Let's just leave that as a surprise for you, lad."
J'role shook his head. He'd had enough mystery since meeting Garlthik. '
"No offense, lad, but I'll just keep it my secret."
Leaping up, J'role faced the city's hill, and began waving his arms. Garlthik grabbed him roughly and slammed him down to the ground. Bevarden merely stood watching the whole incident without moving.
"I should just kill you now, boy," Garlthik whispered. "I should just twist your neck."
J'role stared up into the ork's furious facet trying to hide his fear. He didn't think the ork would hurt him but he could not be certain.
They rested on the ground for a few moments, Garlthik leaning over J’role, his hot breath streaming down into J'role's face. Seeing a strange series of expressions pass over the ork's face, the boy realized that Garlthik was trying to decide whether or not to trust J'role. Finally Garlthik glanced over at Bevarden—a long, wistful glance—and then looked back down at J'role.
“Throal," he said. "We're going to see if we can talk to the dwarfs. The stonework of the city was good. Good enough to be from the Kingdom of Throal. They might know something about it we don't." Then he rolled over and sat up, staring off into the distance.
It made sense to J'role. His own fath
er had told of the kingdom's legendary facility with architecture and engineering. J'role might even have thought of it himself, given time. So why did Garlthik hesitate to tell him?
Then J'role realized it didn't have so much to do with Garlthik telling or not telling him about the dwarfs. The ork s reluctance had more to do with telling J'role anything. He's a thief, J'role thought. He depends on thief magic. He never gives anything away And then J'role thought; "But he did. To me."
12
One day, his mother began screaming during one of Bevarden's performances. She did not scream anything in particular. Just words. Just screams.
She tore at her hair and scratched her face with her fingernails until she drew blood.
Several people grabbed her and tried to stop her. But she was enraged and very strong.