Exiled (The Never Chronicles)

by J. R. Wagner

  “Do I smell that bad?” he asked.

  “Like rubbish,” she said with a smile, taking him in her arms.

  “What happened to you?” she asked.

  “It spoke to me,” he said.

  “What did, the tower?” Kilani asked.

  “The castle,” James replied.

  “How?”

  “The towers and the castle are one,” said James.

  “What did it say?”

  “Everything.”

  — 23 —

  THE RETURN OF DAVID OGILVY

  September 1895, Scotland

  James, age thirteen

  Shadows fell on the expansive flatlands in front of the castle. Dug into the largest of the mountains, the castle had a clear view of the valley. It was a stronghold in its day. A great battle had laid waste to the outer bailey wall, leaving sections of the battlements in crumbles on the ground. Most of the towers between battlements remained standing, giving James a clear view of any approaching visitors.

  Incantations had been cast upon the entire valley. They were far more complex than anything even his mother could comprehend. When he'd asked who had created this place, she'd ignored his question. They had been here once before when he was much younger, but he remembered very little of his previous visit.

  The sun ignited the peaks in a blaze of orange light as it descended behind the mountains. James could see their horses grazing beside the stable in the distance. Incantations prohibited anyone to transport or even approach on horseback; on foot was the only way one could get close. The hills stretched around the valley like an incomplete wreath with one section at the far end open to allow passage. The long shadows from the hills made it difficult to see anything at their bases at sunset, which despite the enchantments worried his mother.

  The wind was strong as it blew across the tower, but it was not the biting air that would be coming down from the north in the next few weeks. James wrapped twine around one end of a piece of black cloth and fastened it to a rotting pole he had found in the stable. He propped up the pole with several stones he found strewn about the top of the tower. His makeshift flag flapped loudly in the wind as he descended the stone spiral stairs.

  James crossed the outer bailey, careful to avoid the rubble of the spilled walls behind him. He crossed under the arched second portcullis, imagining what the battle had been like. A glint of metal caught his eye on the ground.

  A silver handle stretched up to a flat-bladed axe. James found it difficult to pry the axe out of the ground and, not surprisingly, was unsuccessful at raising it with magic. Eventually he was able to dig out the handle with the knife he always carried on his belt.

  The axe was almost too heavy for James to lift. His determination was steadfast, and he managed to crouch under the handle and lift it with his legs. He couldn't imagine a man swinging a weapon like this very effectively during a battle. He lumbered his way inside the keep, carrying the oversized weapon on his shoulder. The light from the fire in the hall's fireplace danced across the stone floors. Several large wooden tables, which were in surprisingly good repair, stood inside the hall. James dropped the axe on one of the tables with a bang, half expecting the table to collapse under the weight.

  “Mother?”

  His voice echoed in the hall. Their belongings were laid out on the table closest to the fireplace. She had managed to gather several large piles of firewood while he was off wandering the castle. A metal pot was slung over the lug pole and the liquid inside was just beginning to steam. James felt guilty that she had done so much without his help. He knew he took advantage of her guilt. He knew she felt that his struggle with his father's death and his insistence in accepting blame cast an unfair burden on him. Unfair for a boy of thirteen. Or any child for that matter.

  James wondered if his father would be disappointed in him for making his mother get them settled in by herself. He was tired of running from place to place. Tired of not having any friends and tired of not having any freedom. He thought exploring while his mother set up their beds was a small price to pay for this burden he'd been born with. A small part of him knew he was wrong. She was his mother and she was just as alone as he was. Knowing all this, sometimes he simply needed to escape, to do anything that had nothing to do with the damned prophecy. He just wanted to be a kid—even though that age had passed years ago. He was a man now, a man without a father, which meant it was up to him to take care of his mother, not up to her to take care of him. Things would change. He would change.

  He called out her name again. She did not reply. He assumed she'd gone looking for their next meal. Precisely what he should have been doing instead of wandering about. He heard the roll of thunder outside that always preceded a late summer storm in the highlands. Lightning flashes lit the cracks in the large wooden door at the entrance to the great hall. As the rain fell, James began to worry. Between the lightning and the firelight his eyes were having difficulty focusing. He decided he must look for his mother.

  James lifted the bolt securing the door and pulled. It groaned on its hinges. The rain outside was coming down in sheets. He couldn't see past the steps that spilled onto the courtyard. Lightning flashed and for an instant the courtyard was lit, revealing three black figures huddled under the arch of the second portcullis that he'd passed through earlier. He closed the door behind him so he wasn't backlit by the fire from inside.

  James pressed his body against the stone wall of the keep. He waited, knife drawn. Lightning flashed again. They were gone. Could he have imagined them? Rain-soaked and cold, James held his ground and waited for another flash. It came a moment later. Three successive flashes revealed a lone figure in black moving his way across the courtyard toward the door. He knew by the shape that it was not his mother.

  Darkness swallowed the person as the lightning stopped. James tried to track where the figure would be based on his speed. He strained his eyes to see. Another flash, this one further off, provided enough light for James to see that the cloaked figure had reached the bottom step. He could hear heavy boots making their way up to the door. The figure lifted the bolt and stepped inside, allowing the firelight to spill out onto the steps. He didn't give any indication he knew James was there, just within arm's reach. The door remained open after the man stepped through. James crouched and slowly moved toward the entry.

  He stepped inside, knife in hand, low on bent legs, ready to spring at the intruder. The firelight glistened in the puddles the man had left in his wake on the stone floor. James could see the black silhouette standing in front of the fire. Slowly and silently, James made his way around the perimeter of the room, where the shadows from stone columns kept the light at bay. He stopped when he reached the wall with the recessed fireplace. He could not make out the man's face. He watched and waited.

  The man appeared to be warming his hands by the fire. He said a word too quiet to hear and a gust of wind swirled around him, rustling his cloak until it was dry. The man lowered his hood. James immediately recognized him from the council temple. It was David Ogilvy—or the man who'd claimed to be David Ogilvy.

  The man rubbed his hands together and lifted them to his mouth as if to blow warm air into them.

  “Summer draws to an end, I'm afraid,” he said, still looking into the fire. James froze, holding his breath.

  “You need not be afraid, James, son of James. I am not thy enemy.”

  He turned toward James, lifted his hand, and swept it across the back wall, igniting several torches.

  “There, that's better,” the man said, smiling. “Come, we have much to discuss.”

  “Where is my mother?” James asked, planted in place, knife still at the ready.

  “She will be along shortly, I assure you. She is tending to our horses.”

  “Our?”

  “Surely you remember my wife, Tabitha?”

  “David Ogilvy is dead. Lady Tabitha told me so. Who are you?”

  “My tale is one that cannot be
told while standing with weapons drawn. I will tell you all that I can, as I have told your mother, but you must first trust that no harm will come to you.”

  “If you are who you say you are, then you know I cannot,” James replied.

  “Your mother has taught you well, young James.”

  “It was my father who taught me to trust no one.”

  The man's head hung in despair. After a moment he lifted his gaze again to James's eyes.

  “James, I am sorry about your father. He and I were good friends for our parts. I made him a promise once, and I intend to keep it.”

  “And what promise was that? You left him. You left your own wife for over ten years. How do you expect to gain the trust of anyone after being away for all that time? You are a coward who hid in the shadows, and now you expect to be welcomed back as if you'd never left? You will find no forgiveness here, traitor.”

  “I've forgiven him,” Tabitha Ogilvy said, stepping into the great hall.

  “We must hear him out, James,” his mother said, following Tabitha through the door and closing it behind them.

  James looked into his mother's eyes and then into the eyes of Tabitha Ogilvy. James took a deep breath and sheathed his blade.

  “Very well, let us hear your tale, Mr. Ogilvy.”

  — 24 —

  ESCAPE FROM THE WIDOWS

  James and Kilani ran down the narrow tunnel. Ahead of them a pink orb hovered, lighting the way.

  “James, please tell me what's going on?” Kilani asked.

  “We must hurry, our friends are in danger.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked as they rounded a bend and began up a steep set of stairs.

  “Darkness will fall and they're stranded on the first widow. If we don't hurry there won't be anything for us to find,” James replied, increasing the pace as they reached the top of the stairs and continued down another tunnel.

  “What do you mean? Total darkness won't come for another month.”

  James stopped and turned to her. “It is coming tonight,” he said, and then continued down the tunnel.

  The twisting and turning continued for some time. Somehow, James appeared to know exactly which tunnels to take, and before long they reached the open air. The sun had fallen behind the trees in the jungle.

  “This way,” James said, taking off at a run. The noise in the jungle was deafening. Sounds Kilani had never heard before came from animals screaming at the impending darkness.

  The pair burst through the dense foliage at the jungle's edge and onto the beach. Several small creatures that resembled a cross between a crab and an otter scattered into the sea as the pair ran across the sand toward the boat. As they rounded the northern point of the second widow, Kilani came to a dead stop. On the horizon was a blood-red moon. James looked over his shoulder and stopped. He walked back to Kilani, who stood staring at the moon.

  “We must keep moving,” he said.

  “What's happening?” she asked.

  “I'll explain everything when we get back to the boat. Please, Kilani, time is of the essence,” he pleaded. Kilani nodded and they took off at a run again, still energized from the water they had drunk several hours before. In minutes they reached the boat. Kilani glanced over her shoulder as they pushed the boat into the water. The moon, which had risen entirely above the western horizon, was etched with black striations, making it appear alive, an organ wrenched from the body of The Never and thrust into the sky. As Kilani stared at it, she thought she could hear the beating of a heart. The sound of her name being shouted at her brought her back to the present.

  “Hold on, Kilani,” James said.

  “Tertiri zé Manukto ahlnãs Svartbek,” James said, his hands extended over the water. The boat turned quickly and began moving to the south. Kilani noticed the oars were still sitting at the bottom of the boat. She looked at James, who was staring into the distance. His face was illuminated on one side by the blood-red moon, giving him the appearance of a man wearing a mask. It frightened her enough to look away.

  “What happened to you back there?” she asked, looking at her hands.

  “I touched the tower.”

  “Why?”

  “It called to me,” he replied.

  “What did?” Kilani asked.

  “The castle. When I touched it, she shared with me the language of this land. Somehow, I understood. Somehow, I always knew.”

  A smile came across her face, and she looked up at James. Despite his still eerie appearance she was able to look into his eyes. Excitement returned. Hope returned. “You are the one,” she said.

  He looked at her, but said nothing. The water receded beneath the boat as it glided gently onto the beach. Kilani could see the silhouette of the Queen Mary in front of the rising moon as they jumped out of the boat.

  “They're not here,” she said.

  James extended his hand. Three green-light orbs rose from his palm. He sent them high into the air, where they exploded like fireworks. They heard a shout from down the beach and saw someone running toward them. Whoever it was, was screaming.

  “Let's go,” James said.

  They ran toward the screaming man. James sent his pinklight orb out in front of them. Its brightness intensified as it went, until they could see the man's face. It was William. He was breathless and panicked.

  “Roger, heez been bitten. Zey are trapped een zee jungle by monsters.”

  “What monsters?” Kilani asked.

  “I've never seen anyzing like eet. I saw lights an ran 'ere.”

  A strong wind blew up the beach and William let out a cry.

  “‘Ell an' zee div-eil!” he screamed. Kilani and James turned. Clouds were dancing in front of the moon. They weren't substantial enough to block it completely, but James knew it was only a matter of minutes before complete darkness fell.

  “We must hurry,” James said, taking off at a run down the beach. William and Kilani followed closely. James saw the faint tracks William had left where he stepped out of the jungle onto the sand. He stopped. The noise from the jungle was deafening. James held both hands palms up just in front of his body. Thousands of sand grain–sized orbs of glowing light rose from them like stars. They rose above their heads, where they hung for a moment before rapidly moving into the jungle.

  “Tertiri zé Manukto kãmã,” James said. Each tiny orb grew in size and intensity, lighting the jungle beneath them. The noise fell silent. Thick dark clouds blew across the sky and finally blocked the last of the red light. The Never had fallen dark.

  James stepped into the jungle. Kilani and William exchanged nervous glances and followed closely. As he walked, James once again sent three green orbs high into the air, where they exploded like fireworks one after the other.

  “Not much furzer zere is a bamboo grove,” William said. “Zey're just beyond it.”

  Each of James's light orbs hung just below the canopy, like lanterns burning so brightly that they left no shadows. Kilani marveled at this feat.

  The group reached the first stalks of bamboo, which were thicker than any James had seen during his travels back in his world. Rather than green, the chutes were midnight black. They moved around the perimeter of the tightly knit plants that would not allow passage by anything but the smallest of jungle creatures. William looked nervously into the bamboo thicket as they passed. Despite the power of the orbs, it seemed no light could penetrate this bamboo forest.

  “Juzst aeead,” William whispered.

  They reached the end of the bamboo grove and James came to a stop. In front of him stood the strangest creature he'd ever seen. It had its back to him and paid none of the three any notice. The creature stood on two long legs, balanced by long toes. It had four arms, each equally spaced and equal in length with extremely long fingers, which were clenched. A shell extended down the creature's back, stopping just over its waist. A pair of wings were folded over the top of the shell. The shell fanned at the top, blocking the view of th
e creature's head.

  Dozens of other jungle creatures, each stranger than the next, also stood immobile, almost touching each other. It was as if the light had frozen them in place. In the center of the circle of creatures stood Luno and Roger. Roger's arm was over Luno's shoulder for support.

  James whispered, “Apotëket,” and the creatures directly in front of him moved aside slowly. The movement immediately drew Luno's attention, who stared gape-jawed at James as he walked toward them. Roger's leg, if it could be called a leg at this point, was torn to pieces. He was pale as a ghost from blood loss. James put his hand on Roger's hip and said, “Tertiri zé Manukto tupasarri.”

  Roger, who had been too delirious to realize what was going on, refocused. His injured leg began healing itself. Luno looked from the healing leg to James and then back to the leg with an expression of disbelief. He began to speak, but James interrupted him.

  “We need to leave this place. The lights will only keep away some of the creatures. The ones it won't are truly the ones we don't want to meet. Roger, can you walk?” James asked.

  Roger hesitantly put his foot on the ground and slowly shifted his weight onto it. “Aye, Cap'n,” he said as he took his first few steps, “b'lieve I can.”

  “Tertiri zé Manukto Svartbek ahlnãs,” James said, extending his hands.

  The leaves of the surrounding plants began to sway. Globules of water from the leaves began to combine and hover toward James.

  “Tertiri zé Manukto hilosaari.”

  The water glowed blue for a moment, then back to clear.

  “Cup your hands and drink. The water is safe,” James said, sending the water directly in front of Roger, who hesitantly cupped his hands. The water fell into them and he drank greedily, tossing all doubt aside. Immediately, he was reenergized and his color returned. Not far away a low guttural growl broke the silence. Many of the smaller creatures ran off into the darkness beyond the light from James's orbs.