by Liam Reese
Slowly, awkwardly, and painfully, Joranas pulled himself into a seated position with his back to the cave wall. It was fairly shallow but deep enough to keep the baking sun from cooking him alive. He swallowed, the dry click of his throat a desperate sound and his face screwed up as tears threatened to come.
Stop that!
Oddly it had been his mother’s voice that barked inside his head. Joranas would have expected such to come from his father but the Queen’s voice had come to him.
Grow up.
His mother’s voice cut into his mind, snapping him from his self pity and bringing him back to reality. He had to take stock. He had to survive.
Joranas looked around the interior of the cave. As his attention had been diverted outside before, he had failed to notice the small cache of items just opposite where he reclined. A few plant stems had been carefully laid beside a length of dried meat and there looked to be a nest of some kind, a pile of dry brush and twigs that had been flattened in the middle.
Joranas half crawled, half dragged himself over to the items, picking up one of the plant stems. As thick as his middle finger and dark green, it looked to have sections to it and felt cold to the touch. Joranas shook it, overjoyed when he heard the sound of liquid inside. He ripped a hole in the stem with his teeth and sucked, sweet water flooding his mouth and making the back of his jaws tingle. Thoughtlessly, did the same to three more stems before realizing he should conserve some and put the fourth back.
They’re not yours either.
That thought shocked him. But of course, these things had been gathered by someone else. The heavy breather that had been here before. Joranas picked up the jerky, chewing the salty meat but not wanting to know what animal it came from.
Are they going to be angry?
Joranas found he did not care. If whoever had gathered these items had not wanted him to have them, they should have hidden them or taken them wherever they went. Joranas looked around to see if any clue as to the stranger’s identity might lay within the cave but it was bare save for the few items he found.
Boosted by the small meal, Joranas moved over to the cave mouth, staring out into the vastness of the desert he was in. His eyes picked out nothing of any significance. All he could see were piles and piles of shivering sand. Orange waves with streams of sand lifted from their peaks by the wind. Hot sun beat onto his head like a club when he leaned out too far and Joranas ducked back inside the cave as fast as he could, curling up against the far wall and staring at the cracked ceiling.
I’m never leaving here. Not alive any way.
His eyes drooped, fatigue robbing him of the will to stay awake and he fell asleep almost instantly.
He jumped awake when something touched him. Joranas flicked his eyes open to see the outline of someone, someone big, trying to bury him. He screamed wordlessly, thrashing his arms and legs against the soft down he was under. The figure squatted and Joranas calmed a little, realizing he was not being buried but covered against the chill that had come with night again.
His keen eyesight allowed him to see the stranger in the near dark of the cave and Joranas studied the man from beneath his warm covering.
It was difficult to tell how tall he might be as he squatted, arms wrapped around knees, but his head almost reached the cave roof and Joranas had been able to stand upright earlier so he knew the man was tall. Bulky too. Joranas could see the thick cords of muscle on the stranger’s arms and legs. His neck, too, was thick with muscle, leading up to a square jaw that had a dent in the chin. Emerald eyes sparkled in the darkness as the stranger examined Joranas in return and the young boy felt almost instantly at ease. They were kind eyes, filled with a friendly openness he recognized.
“Who are you?” Joranas asked in a cracked, dry voice.
“Who are you?” the stranger echoed, his voice a deep, baritone rumble.
“I’m Joranas.”
The stranger tilted his head to one side like a dog listening to its master. Long, brown hair fell to his shoulders, shifting as he moved. The stranger frowned.
“Joranas,” he said.
“Yes. I’m Joranas,” the boy said. “Who are you?”
“I do not know,” the stranger said, puzzled. “I met Joranas before, in the other place. He was not nice. Are you nice?”
Joranas nodded.
“Very nice,” he said nervously. “Are you?”
“I do not know,” the stranger said.
“Where are we?” Joranas asked.
“Here, in this place.”
Joranas sighed. He was obviously impaired in some way, probably the intense sun had boiled his brains. Joranas looked and smiled, at least he had brought some more of the liquid filled stems.
“I’m sorry,” he said carefully. “I used up the plants.”
“Plants,” the stranger echoed.
Joranas pointed at the stems, miming drinking from them. The stranger copied his mime, looking so comical Joranas laughed. The stranger did too.
“So you don’t know your name at all?” Joranas asked
“No.”
“What am I going to call you then?” Joranas asked.
“Joranas,” the stranger said in a matter of fact tone.
“No that’s my name, it would just get confusing,” he looked up, thinking. “What about calling you Whint?”
“Whint,” the stranger said. A broad smile crossed his face, revealing a set of straight, white teeth.
“Are you cold?” Joranas asked.
Whint tilted his head again, staring at Joranas. It was as if he understood the words Joranas said but not the meaning they conveyed, even though it was a simple enough question.
“Cold,” Whint said.
“You covered me because I was shivering,” Joranas said. “Aren’t you cold too?”
“No,” Whint replied.
“Is there anyone else near here?” Joranas asked.
“No.”
“Any buildings or anything at all?”
“No.”
“How did we get here?” Joranas asked.
“We arrived,” Whint said.
“Well that explains it all, then,” Joranas muttered.
He thought back to before he had woken here, trying to remember what had happened. His thoughts were hazy and indistinct, like when he had taken a bottle of wine and drunk some to be like his father. He recalled exploring the palace at night, unable to sleep. Could remember the strange statues in the Hall of Kings and then...the door had been open! The door his father had said had evil inside had been open and Joranas had gone in. He could remember the odd table, the strange feelings it gave him as he got closer to it and then…
“I touched it,” he said.
“I touched it,” Whint repeated.
Joranas looked at the man, trying to see if he was just copying him or he had touched the table as well.
How can he have known what you were thinking?
“I want to have a look outside,” Joranas said a little nervously. “Can I get past?”
Whint stared at him for what seemed like far too long but eventually he shuffled over to where he had made his little nest of twigs and brush. Joranas watched as the large man crawled into it, curling up and getting comfortable. A wash of sadness rolled through Joranas when he watched Whint put his thumb in his mouth and begin to suck. Joranas ducked outside, the chill biting at him.
Chapter Six
“Of course I am going with you,” Arteera said as she began to select a few items to take with her. “If you are traveling to Boranash to try and find my son, I shall be there too.”
“And what about Gazluth?” he asked. “Who’s going to look after the country if we both go?”
Arteera actually sneered at him, her lip curling as she stared at her husband.
“I really don’t care,” she said. “This is my son we’re talking about here!” she shouted, more animated than he had seen her for days. “Not some trade agreement, not something th
at will bring money into the country or help make the people’s lives better. My son!” she repeated, staring at him with a burning rage in her tear-filled eyes.
“Our son,” Besmir said.
“Oh, you do remember that then?” Arteera asked sarcastically. “That he is your son as well?” she arched her eyebrows at Besmir who’s confusion only grew. “Because it would seem you have so many more things that are more important than your wife or son,” she snapped at him. “Did you know he thinks you have no love in your heart for him? Did you know he tries so hard for you to see him?”
“What do you mean see him? I see him every day,” Besmir said, anger beginning to heat his chest.
“You do not see his achievements, you never praise him for anything he does and he does so much to try and get your attention.”
Besmir shook his head, a bitter laugh crawling up his throat.
“So I’m a useless father and husband then?” he spat at Arteera. “Maybe you will both see the truth when I march into Hell to save my boy.”
“I didn’t say you were a useless father or husband,” Arteera said in a gentler tone. “There is no need for the histrionics either,” she said. “March into Hell!” she mimicked.
“Arteera,” Besmir said in a patient voice, “you do realize this trip to Boranash is so I can do exactly that?” he asked. “I’ve got to find a way to physically enter the world my father’s spirit lives in and then let this Porantillia, whoever she is, do whatever she likes to me?”
Arteera stared at Besmir, two red spots appearing on her cheeks as she considered his words.
“Why would she want you?” she asked, afraid of his answer. “How does she even know you exist?”
“Remember Tiernon?” Besmir asked sarcastically. “Remember all the demons he summoned?” Arteera nodded slowly. “At least one of them came from that blackness she is trapped in. I was there when something was born. Some evil, dark thing I burned the life from as soon as it emerged, but there were more, so many more.”
Besmir trailed off, recalling his sojourn in the Hell dimension when creatures his father had called Ghoma had feasted on his eternal soul. He shivered at the recollection, shaking his head to clear the memories.
“That’s how she knows about me. I killed Tiernon who she was either helping or controlling and now she wants revenge. So she’s taken Joranas because she knows I’ll do anything to save him.” Besmir rubbed his chest hard.
“What’s wrong?” Arteera asked, pointing at his chest.
“I’ve got this...pain, I suppose you could call it. But it’s more like...a hollow...inside my chest,” he turned his agonized face to her and her heart melted. “It won’t go, Arteera,” he added, sobbing. “No matter what I do I can’t get rid of it.”
The Queen of Gazluth walked over to her husband and took his hand gently. She lifted it, kissing his fingers before placing it between her breasts.
“Why did you not say?” she asked as tears rolled down her cheeks. “I have its twin within me.”
“She’s taken our son,” Besmir said in a child like voice.
“I know,” Arteera sobbed. “I miss him so.”
“Me too,” Besmir said. “I promise I’ll do anything I can to get him back,” Besmir declared. “Anything.”
Arteera kissed him long and hard.
“But I could not bear to lose you either,” she said, her voice rising to a squeak.
Besmir sniffed, looking down to where their hands met.
“Then I’d better find a way to get back to you, hadn’t I?” he asked.
Arteera nodded hard, her hair bouncing.
“You better,” she said, “or I will come and drag you from Hell myself.”
Besmir, Zaynorth, Herofic, Ru Tarn and Arteera accompanied by Ru Tarn’s assistant, Qi Noss, were escorted quietly from Morantine’s north gate by a small group of White Blades led by Norvasil. Few people were abroad at this unholy hour and of those few that might have seen them, Zaynorth gave the illusion they were never there. Ru Tarn and Qi Noss had both raised concerns about not having enough protection but Besmir had pointed out that if there was anything on the way they could not handle or avoid, a few added soldiers would probably not be of any more use.
The land north of the capital rose steadily out of the valley the city had been built in, through farmland and some of the best vineyards in the country. They passed friendly farmers as they rode, exchanging pleasantries as they skirted fields.
“None of them will ever know they’ve just said good morning to the Queen,” Besmir said, smiling at Arteera.
She smiled coyly back at Besmir, their little argument, followed by sharing of feelings, had strengthened them once more and she was truly grateful for it. She steered her horse alongside his and they rode together in friendly silence.
“I must say it has been a long time since I have traveled,” Zaynorth announced. “Hopefully we can recall how it is done.”
“You moan and complain about how sore your backside is,” Herofic grunted, making them laugh.
“Now I remember,” Zaynorth said playing along.
The party chatted amiably as they rode north-east through the rolling grasslands of Gazluth. Immense herds of cattle grazed lazily in the warm sun, eyeing the small party with uninterested stares as they chewed endlessly at the grass. Once, Besmir’s keen eyes picked out a pair of people watching them from the top of a large rock that thrust from the ground like a giant thumb.
“Probably want to make sure we are not about to pilfer any of their cattle,” Zaynorth said when he followed Besmir’s eye line.
Besmir nodded and they rode on.
As the sun waned, heating their backs, Norvasil approached Besmir, steering his massive horse next to the king.
“Rogen says there is a hamlet up ahead, just a small place but there is an inn if you would like to stop for the night.”
Besmir looked at his tired wife and the exhausted appearance Zaynorth was attempting to hide. He wanted nothing more but to gallop north, get to Boranash as fast as he could to save his son, killing horses if need be. Had he believed he would get away with it he would do so now. He also knew how insular the Corbondrasi could be and a lone horseman attempting to gain access to the royal family would most likely be filled with crossbow bolts. Gritting his teeth in frustration Besmir nodded.
Loran’s End turned out to be quite a busy little place set at the intersection of two well traveled roads. The outskirts had been trampled into mud by the passage of thousands of hooves, horse and cattle had been driven round the outside of the town. The few buildings there were clean and well maintained, however, and the small party made for the center of town where a large building sat with a stable attached to the side.
Imposing and stone built, the Gorky Tavern had obviously grown over time as the different building styles and materials showed. The upper floors hung over the lower, using some building technique Besmir did not understand or fully trust. A pair of severe-looking men armed with clubs stood by the main door, one with an obviously broken nose and the other missing an eye. Besmir dropped from his horse and approached.
“Trouble?” he asked.
Broken nose grinned, revealing he had several teeth missing as well as his broken nose.
“Not with me and Jarks here,” he grunted. “Ain’t no one stupid enough to start nothing,” he spoke with a slight buzzing hiss from his broken nose. “Stables round the side, give your horses over to young Besmir if you want to stay.”
“Sorry, did you say Besmir?” Zaynorth asked with a smirk.
“Yep. What of it?”
“Oh nothing,” Zaynorth said. “It is just not that common of a name.”
“Quite a few folks round these parts called Besmir,” he buzzed. “After the King, you know, and what he done for us.”
Besmir glanced at Arteera who returned his look with a tiny, tired smile as they made their way round the building to where the stables were.
The pungent sme
ll of horse manure rose from a large midden stirred by a young lad of around ten who dumped a barrow full of fresh dung on top. He turned and the ache in Besmir’s chest doubled when he saw the similarities to Joranas. Of a similar height and build to his son he wore an almost identical, serious expression and Besmir turned to see if Arteera felt the same.
Her lower lip trembled as she looked at the boy but she did not allow her tears to flow in public. Besmir knew she would wait until they were alone to express her hollow sadness.
“Evening mister, mistress,” the young Besmir said as he pushed his squeaking barrow back towards the stable door. “You staying?”
The King nodded, handing his reins to the lad who clucked his tongue and led his horse inside. He came back out a few seconds later and took Arteera’s horse, leading that in too.
“Fine mounts you got here,” he said, casting a professional eye over the horses. “Good bloodlines. Where you get them?”
“Morantine,” Besmir said, his voice almost a whisper.
The young lad’s eyes widened as he stared at them, taking Zaynorth’s mount and leading it inside.
“You been to the capital?” he said in wonder. “You ever see the King there?” he asked. “My momma named me after King Besmir on account of how he saved the whole world from some bad man. You ever see him?”
The young Besmir squinted up at them, his head tilted to one side, waiting for a reply. Arteera turned her head, leaning against Besmir as waves of sadness threatened to drown her.
“No,” the King said hoarsely. “No, I’ve never seen him.”
Besmir reached into the purse hanging from his belt and pulled out a single gold coin. It glinted in the final rays of sunlight, catching the young boy’s eye. He gaped at the coin as if unable to believe such wealth could exist. Besmir held it out.