by Elina Vale
“Yes.”
Shea’s eyebrows rose up. “You’re weak.”
Merrilon stared her down. “If I was weak, I’d stand by and let her suffer.”
“How interesting,” Shea said. “It seems you and I have different concepts of strength. I’ve offered you a place at my side, and you repeatedly turn me down. You see, I think that if you were strong, you would have the ambition to accept. You would see that the position I offer puts you in a better place to exercise your will. I think that frightens you.” She walked closer, placing her hand on Merrilon’s chest. Spreading her fingers, she stared into his eyes with a strange hunger. “You have a warrior’s heart, Merrilon Moongale.” She moistened her lips. “And a warrior’s body.” Her hand climbed from his chest to his neck, leaving a blood-red smudge on its way up. “But I know how to break you. Oh, your soft, wounded heart will be mine. As will your daughter’s.” With her last words, her eyes blazed with those dancing red dots. Her grip on his throat tightened.
He gasped for air.
Fixing her eyes onto his, she beamed a wicked smile. “I’m going to send you two to the Gates. Maybe that will show you where your loyalties should lie.”
Cemara clasped Merrilon’s hand.
He realized that it was actually the first time he had touched her. Her hand was petite; it nearly vanished under his rough fingers, which had been hardened by his years as a smith in the Pit. She was shaking. He tightened his grip and fastened his eyes forward. A twinkling, light blue curtain of sparkles shimmered in front of them. It was a magical portal.
Shea transported them into a different part of the tower, a grim corridor with four doorways. Three of them were black and empty, but one hummed with a low sound and twinkled.
She paced in front of them, gazing at the gate. “I’m afraid I’m a bit sentimental. I’m going to send you into the same place where your daughter fought so fiercely. You’ll get to experience the same things she did.” She walked in front of the gate and let out a theatrical sigh. “But it’s a shame you won’t get to share your experiences with her, isn’t it?” She turned the other way and pouted her lips. “I tried to offer you everything I have, but you declined me. You disappointed me, just like every man does. My father, Riverson, young Javid, and you... In the end, you all abandon me.”
Merrilon stepped toward her. “Shea, please listen...”
“Quiet!” she shouted. “Know this, Merrilon Moongale...” She spat the words out like they were poison. “I will find your girl. I will offer the same chance you had. If she declines, I will eliminate her. I will tear her apart piece by piece, detach her limbs one by one. I will hear her cries, and it will be glorious!”
Merrilon bit his teeth together. He wouldn’t surrender to her, wouldn’t allow her words to get to him. He had to stay strong. For Shri. For Cemara. For everyone in the Pit. He squeezed Cemara’s hand reassuringly. She could barely stand up. He didn’t care what happened to him –he hadn’t cared for a long time— but seeing Cemara injured broke his heart.
“Have I gone too far?” Shea taunted. “Poor Merrilon. But you will see. Inside the Gates, you will know that you made the wrong decision when you decided to go against me. And that moment is when your soul becomes mine. Will I let you die? I don’t know yet. Pray that you’ll see me again, Merrilon, because I am the only one who can save you.”
Her eyes lit up with magic and she swiped her hand, thrusting Merrilon and Cemara through the gate. Merrilon was washed with a horrible tingling, which burned and froze at the same time. Landing hard, he rolled over the ground until his back hit something solid. He took a couple of calming breaths, then popped his head up to observe his surroundings.
He was in a desert. There were enormous hills of sand and nothing else. He detected no threats anywhere. Once he was certain he and his companion were safe for the time-being, he turned over to attend her. She lay in the sand, ten feet away. He crawled over and twisted her onto her back.
She opened her eyes. “Where are we?”
Sighing with relief, Merrilon clasped her hand. “We’re inside the Gates.”
“What are the Gates?”
“From what I’ve heard, they are a magical world filled with monsters and unspeakable peril.”
Cemara closed her eyes. “Sounds lovely.” She squeezed Merrilon’s hand and held it to her cheek, holding his rough skin against her own. “Thank you, Merrilon.”
“For what?’
She opened her green eyes and looked at him. “For keeping me alive. The only thing that kept me sane during those torturing sessions was you. I knew you would be alone if I died. So, I held on.”
“Cemara...” Merrilon felt a lump in his throat.
Caressing her cheek on his hand, she whispered, “I like touching you.”
A warmth Merrilon hadn’t felt for a woman in a long time washed over him. Cemara’s skin was silky under his hand. Though he desired to surrender, he knew it wasn’t the time. “We must get you up and find shelter. And we need water.”
Cemara’s eyes grew tearful. “I think there is no water here. Or food. She sent us here to die.”
“She sent us here to suffer. To experience what a gate runner faces.” Merrilon stared at her as he helped her to her feet. In the daylight, she was even more attractive. And she was even more beaten up. Her face was bruised, and part of her head was covered in dried blood. Her clothes were torn. He wrapped his arm around her and whispered, “Don’t lose hope. As long as we have each other, and as long as our hearts are beating, we have hope.”
Cemara smiled and leaned to him. “I love that you have hope for the both of us. I have used all of mine.”
Merrilon squeezed her a bit tighter. “I have enough for the both of us.”
They stumbled up a hill of sand, trying to get their bearings. Shadowing his eyes with his hand, Merrilon scouted for a place they could find some shadow and shelter. Farther away, he saw a city. It had walls of stone, but there was a gateway through which to enter. There, they would find shade from the sun, but what else, he didn’t know.
“It’s quite far away,” Cemara whispered.
“We’ll make it,” Merrilon said.
Cemara didn’t respond but squeezed Merrilon’s hand. They started descending the hill, sand slipping under their feet, the sun scorching their heads. Trudging across the desert towards the walled city, Merrilon couldn’t help but respect the irony. Here he was, outside of the Pit for the first time in his life, and where was he heading? To a city within walls. But gazing at Cemara, whose steps had gone more hesitant and her breathing staggered, he knew it was the only sensible destination.
As time passed, he started to feel the desert getting to him. His vision became blurred as the sand stung his eyes. His neck was burned by the dazzling sun, and he had no saliva left to swallow. Cemara was barely awake; Merrilon had to haul her alongside himself. She was petite, but with his depleted strength, carrying her would be impossible.
After a long, slow hour, they entered the city through its gray stone arches.
Inside, they discovered peculiar ball-shaped houses scattered throughout the place, sticking from the sand like halved apples. For a time, the village seemed deserted, but soon, voices roused their attention. Merrilon pulled to a halt and squeezed Cemara, gesturing that she needed to be quiet. They stood in silence, as low-pitched voices and sounds echoed around them.
“Merrilon Moongale?” said one of the voices.
“Who’s asking?” he answered, protectively holding Cemara.
“Is...Is it really you?” The figure stepped forward.
Squinting against the sunlight, Merrilon recognized the figure. “Farando? Farando Brownsand?”
“It is you! Merrilon, thank the Mother it’s you!”
“How is it that you’re here? I haven’t seen you since the day of the rebellion! I thought you were dead.”
“We thought you were!” Farando was on the verge of tears. He turned around and shouted, “Everyone
, it’s okay! It’s Merrilon Moongale!”
Heads popped out from the huts, belonging to skinny men and women. And children... so many children. They were thin as straws, hollow expressions on their faces.
“Merrilon!” a familiar voice asked. It was Remedy Rilda, leaning awkwardly on her stick. Shaking like a sand hopper ready to shed its skin, she asked, “You’ve come to save us, right? You’ll get us out of here, won’t you?”
Merrilon frowned. The old crone had no remedies here. “I... I’m sorry. I don’t even understand how we arrived here...”
Cemara collapsed, saving Merrilon from having to explain himself for a moment. Two men rushed to her and carried her into the hut. Merrilon raised his hand to block out the sun, and then the faces of the children, whispering his name around him, turned into a blur.
“Get Merrilon inside! He needs water!” Farando commanded.
Merrilon was quickly escorted into the shadows of the hut. Slumping down, he leaned his back against the wall. Someone gave him a flask of water, which he drank greedily before realizing it might have been carefully rationed. Once he saw that Cemara had been given water too, he relaxed.
People were gossiping outside the hut.
“He led the attack when they broke the gate to the Fourth ring!”
“No, it wasn’t him.”
“Yes, it was! And the stories say he carried a magical sword! He’ll get us out. You’ll see.”
“Get away from there!” Farando shouted. “Let him breathe!” He entered the hut and sat next to Merrilon.
Merrilon glimpsed at him from the corner of his eye. “How long have you been in here?”
Farando gave him another flask of water. “Since the rebellion.”
“Three months? You’ve been in here for three months?”
He scratched his head, looking a bit confused. “It’s hard to track the time.”
“I suppose it takes all of your focus to survive the wilderness.”
“The most critical thing is the children,” he said. “There’s nothing we can do for them. They are starving, as we all are. Periodically, the senatai toss us something to eat, but it’s just not enough. I don’t understand why the High Mistress is keeping us here. If she wants us to die, fine, but why waste time tormenting us?”
Merrilon sighed and looked at Rilda, who stumbled up from Cemara’s side. “Is she going to be okay?”
“Are any of us?” She snorted. “Her bruises will heal. Her sprained ankle will heal. Her broken arm will heal. But will she survive the desert? That I can’t tell.”
Rilda limped out of the hut, followed by Farando. Merrilon stared at Cemara’s beaten face and tormented body. He crawled across the floor and lay next to her, wiping an auburn curl away from her face. She sighed and turned onto her side. Curling against her back, Merrilon wound his arm around her and fell asleep.
The sound of voices awoke Merrilon. He cracked his eyes open, only to be greeted by Cemara’s calm gaze. A slight smile curved onto her lips.
“Morning,” she said.
“Morning,” Merrilon responded quietly. “How are you doing?”
“Better.”
“Do the wounds hurt?”
“Not much. The arm is throbbing, but I can handle it.”
Merrilon stroked her chin with his filthy hand. “Even when the situation is this, I’m sort of glad you are here with me.”
Cemara’s eyes lit up and her smile widened. “Sort of?”
Merrilon smiled back. What an absurd situation this was.
Cemara leaned closer and kissed him. Her lips were soft and gentle. A warmth climbed into Merrilon’s heart, which had been frozen by his former wife’s coldness. Cemara felt so real, yet at the same time, like a dream.
“Thank you,” Merrilon said.
Cemara burst out laughing. “Well, you’re welcome. So... where are we exactly?”
He pushed himself up. “We are in the Gates.”
“I understand that. But where have they taken us?”
“I don’t know. Some other world? All I know is that my daughter was here a few months ago.” Gazing around the hut with wonder, he added, “Perhaps in this very place.”
Cemara struggled to sit up. Merrilon helped her by supporting her back. “Thanks,” she said, looking around. “Fascinating.”
“What is it?”
“This is a Januvian hut. They build these from the sand, did you know that?”
“Oh?” Merrilon tried to focus, but all he could see was Cemara’s soft mouth moving, the small beam of sun playing on her curls. Her long lashes cast shadows on her cheekbones and framed her beautiful eyes.
“Are you listening?” Cemara asked.
Merrilon grinned. “No. I was admiring you.”
She started, blinked a couple of times, and then smiled in amusement.
The door opened and Rilda came in. “Merrilon, you fool, let her rest. If you laid a hand on her last night...”
Merrilon swiped his hands up. “What do you think of me Rilda, eh?”
She squinted her eyes and pointed at Merrilon with her skeletal finger. “You’re a man. That’s all Rilda needs to know.”
“Speaking of ourselves in the third person now, are we?”
“Mind your tongue!”
Merrilon stood, and his stomach made a rumble. “Is there any food?”
Rilda snorted and knelt beside Cemara, gesturing for her to recline. She was about to lift Cemara’s shirt when she suddenly stopped, glanced over her shoulder, and said, “Go to the main square. There’s not much to eat, but you’ll find something there. Be aware that the children eat first.”
Merrilon exited the hut, humming a light tune and enjoying a spring in his step he hadn’t felt for a long time. He examined the mysterious village. Small huts were scattered all around, and a brick wall surrounded the city. It wasn’t as threatening as the Iron Wall had been in Ironflare; the feeling this one gave was more of shelter and protection. Protection from the desert. Shelter from the sun.
He stopped and glanced around.
We’re prisoners.
This wasn’t a new chance for these people. This wasn’t a place they could start building their lives. Merrilon felt like he deserved to be punched in the face. Sleeping on the floor with Cemara had mixed his thoughts. He looked into the face of a young woman who passed him. Her eyes were veiled, sad and dim. She wrapped her arms around herself like she was in pain.
Hunger.
Merrilon squeezed his hands into fists. Once more, his people cried for freedom.
He decided to have a small bite of food, only enough to keep him strong, and then he would figure out how to leave this place. He arrived at the main square to find at least a hundred people, all lining up to receive their portions of food. Two men and women who were distributing it. He greeted them with a nod. Grabbing a loaf of bread, he tore it in half and gave it to two kids in the line.
“Thank you,” one of them said.
“You’re welcome.”
As he moved from the line, he turned around. “You’re Merrilon.”
Merrilon nodded. “Yes. I am.”
“Will you help us? Will you take us away with a magical sword?”
The cold lump inside Merrilon grew bigger. Why did these people think he had the answers? “I don’t know if I can.”
The face of the little boy darkened, bringing him to the verge of tears.
Merrilon knelt and placed his hands on the skinny boy’s shoulders. “But we’re going to try. We will all work together, and we will try.”
The boy nodded, sniffed, and ran away.
Farando joined him. “You are too sentimental,” he said. “We’ve been left here to die. Don’t promise them something you can’t keep.”
“I didn’t. I do intend to try. My Shri was in this place, and she escaped. So will we.”
Farando placed his hand on Merrilon's shoulder. “I have missed your faith. We need it more than ever. But... I’m concerned. Even
with you among us, do we have any hope?”
“You know,” Merrilon said, sharing another piece of dry bread. “Hope is all we have.”
A crack of lightning burst from the far end of the plaza. Like a mass of cattle, the people made their way over to it.
“Food!” someone cried. “She has brought food and water!”
Shea.
Merrilon was unprepared for her current appearance. She looked monstrous. Her skin had taken on a pale shade of serpent-like green. She was under some wicked magical spell.
Cemara had managed to stumble out of the hut and join Boa. She eased in by his side and clutched his hand. Merrilon squeezed it in response.
“Well, well,” Shea said. “Merrilon Moongale, feeding the needy. I might have known.”
“Just helping out,” Merrilon said.
“Oh? You know who gives the bread to these... people? Don’t you?” Sauntering around behind him, she shot him a malicious grin, daring him to turn around. “I do!”
He refused to face her. “It’s insufficient. These children are starving!”
“Oh, they are?” She circled around in front of him and pouted her painted, rosy lips. When Merrilon refused to respond, she turned her glare on Cemara.
Cemara squeezed his hand a bit tighter.
Shea faced the crowd. Raising her arms higher, she shouted, “My fair people! I can be cruel when my children need to be punished, but I can also be kind! Join my shadow army! You will never be hungry again. You will never suffer again!”
Many of them took a step forward.
Merrilon dropped Cemara’s hand and stepped in front of Shea, looking into her red and black eyes. “Stop.”
She smirked. “Why? They are mine. They could be yours too, Merrilon.”
“You said you didn’t want me anymore,” he said.
She let her red nail travel across his cheek, “Well, I was displeased with you. Can you blame me? I could still find a use for you. I’m sure you have... talents.”
The sword, he thought, remembering Doria’s words. She wants me so she can command the sword. It only answers to me.
“Merrilon, don’t,” Cemara whispered.