by Ted Neill
But the blade struck true and sliced through the line holding Adamantus, and a new protector loomed over her. His head now free, Adamantus easily snapped the second line with his antlers and reared up on his hind legs. The Kejelin, dumbstruck at the trickery that had befallen them, stared, their eyes lidless. Gabriella did not wait. She charged across the shingle and up onto the sacrificial stone where she cut Omanuju’s bindings with the sword. She could see the marks from the abuse by his captors, the pool of blood beneath his head. But he moved quickly to free himself of the ropes and clambered to his feet.
Adamantus wasted no time charging the Kejelin, swinging his antlers, lifting men up into the air and flinging them end-over-end. Their adversaries called to each other, waving back those that had fled after the startled horses. Adamantus charged again and after scattering the men, he turned and galloped to Gabriella and Omanuju. There was no hope in fighting, only escape.
Omanuju leapt upon Adamantus’ back and pulled Gabriella up before him. The elk splashed briefly through the surf before turning and galloping across the moorland towards the forest and the Elawn. The only illumination came from the thin-as-a-blade moon, but it was enough for the elk who carried them over rises and ridgelines without giving ground to the Kejelin now in pursuit. Their horses were not nearly as surefooted in the dark. Gabriella heard a few whinny and tumble, tossing their riders who rolled into the heather with grunts and gasps.
By the time Adamantus reached the forest, they had a lead. They needed it, for the path through the woods proved harder to find, slowing the elk. The Kejelin now had the advantage, for they knew the forest trails well. Soon they could be heard crashing through the underbrush. Adamantus was panicking, rearing and hissing through his nostrils while the riders gained ground. The elk dashed down a trail only to find their path blocked by a sheer cliff. Gabriella knew they had to be close to the Elawn. Even in the dark she could make out the ridge where they had found the waterfall.
“Easy, old friend.” Omanuju patted Adamantus’ neck. The elk settled and turned downhill and then found a path out of the woods and into a meadow cast white in the moonlight. Adamantus heaved himself up the incline like a goat, Gabriella nearly falling if not for Omanuju’s firm grip. She could feel the elk’s heart beating between her legs. Flecks of foam spun out from his mouth. An arrow whistled past their heads and embedded itself in a tree with a thwunk. The woods were alive with the sound of creatures fleeing just ahead of them, and birds, disturbed from their sleep, flapping into the air above them. They came to the clearing with the traps, this time the elk skirting them by inches. Curtains of moss hanging from the trees passed over them, and branches slapped painfully at their faces, but after hurdling through a few more bushes and over logs, they burst into the clearing with the waterfall where the Elawn waited.
Flames flickered in the lanterns that hung on the fore and aft posts. As they splashed through the stream and galloped beside the pool, a familiar figure appeared at the railing.
“Well, about time you—”
Ghede’s words were cut off as an arrow flew out of the darkness and lodged into the port rail. He yanked it out, one hand curled into a fist, the other brushing the damaged railing.
“Ghede, ready the ship to fly!” Omanuju cried. But Ghede already had fled from the rail and was swinging across the deck on the same line that opened the paneled sails. They bloomed in the moonlight, and Gabriella thought she had never seen such a welcome sight. As the elk slowed at the bottom of the gangway she slid off his back to run and untie the mooring line.
The riders had closed the distance, their white masks flying up the hill like vengeful spirits. They fired barrages of arrows at their fleeing captives. Gabriella cursed, realizing her miscalculation: she could not reach the gangway without exposing herself to the deadly arrows. The Elawn was already rising, Omanuju waited at the top of the gangway for her. She waved him away. “Pull it up. Climb out of their range!”
She ran back along the length of the ship, towards the bow, away from the arrows and clutched the line she had just loosed. With hands and feet she held on as the Elawn caught the wind and climbed.
The ground swept out from under her, and she crashed through the branches of the nearest trees. If she had thought the ride through the forest had been punishing, this was far worse. More than once she lost her grip and slid down the line, her palms burning and her legs twisting around the rope to catch herself. Then she was clear of the canopy. Arrows flew past and she was left to count on luck to keep her unscathed.
It held. The Elawn moved out of bowshot, and the ridge dropped away beneath Gabriella. She dared not look down as she swung over a ravine where the rushing river below was but a thread in the moonlight. The exertion from her pursuit of the Kejelin, dancing with the heavy sword, holding on to Adamantus as he fled, all caught up with her now. Her arms shook with fatigue and her legs felt like jelly. She slid downward, watching the Elawn recede, knowing the end of the rope was not far.
“Ghede!” she cried.
Like the miracle she needed, the sailor came swooping down from the darkness, riding a rope as if it were a finger of the gods. They collided in mid-air, and Gabriella felt herself wrenched away from the mooring line. They floated skywards on the upswing, the line wrapping about the Elawn’s hull and pulling them closer, up, and over the port rail. They landed on the deck, Ghede’s feet planted firmly on the boards. He held Gabriella securely in his arms and took a few steps forward to slow his own momentum.
In the lantern light, he looked her up and down, noting her streaked crimson skin and hair, the welts from the tree branches, her blistered palms, her altered clothes.
“Demon’s feet!” he said, shaking his head. “You’d look better in blue.”
Chapter 13
The Guild
Sade and Vondales were destitute again. Even the skiff they had stolen had been taken away. It was late afternoon and the dinner hour was upon them, an expanse of time yawning open and empty as their stomachs. Food, in the form of fish, was plentiful, piled in market stalls all around them, roasting over coals, dripping in oil, and tantalizingly out of reach. With no money and nothing to trade with, they were helpless. Sade thought of pilfering a loaf of bread or a wheel of cheese from a booth, but already he had a look of desperation and shop keepers turned a close eye on him whenever he neared.
As night fell they found themselves beneath the pier, their stomachs painful as they searched for a place to sleep. The rocky shore was littered with empty mussel shells, fish bones, and lime peels. Crabs picked at the rotting carcass of a seal. They found a gap in the seawall where they huddled together, but the cold was unrelenting as the stone beneath them was hard. Vondales slept, for most of his weight was on Sade, but Sade, with the rock pressing beneath him and his limbs shaking from the chill, remained awake. Therefore he heard the footsteps of the boys approaching before he could see them. He hoped they would just pass by, even not notice them, but they instead made straight for the gap where he and his brother were hiding.
There were five of them, their voices distinct with the nasal accent of the island. Their clothes were worn, the colors obscured by grime and the darkness. They gathered around Sade while Vondales slept on. Sade would have moved but his legs had gone numb from his brother’s weight. A tall boy with greasy bangs stepped forward and spoke. “You need to come with us.”
Sade didn’t move. He was not sure with the pins and needles prickling his flesh if he would even be able to stand up. He shook Vondales awake. His brother startled when he saw the other boys. It suddenly felt very crowded beneath the pier.
“Get up, Vondales,” Sade said.
His brother complied and addressed the boy who had spoken. “Who are you?”
“I’m Fin. We’re from the Guild and I’ll say it once more. You need to come with us.”
Sade didn’t know what the Guild was but he had no reason to trust these boys. They had already been taken advantage of by Timos.
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“What if we don’t want to,” Sade said, rubbing his legs, hoping that he would be able to spring up and run if needed.
“It’s not an invitation,” a rotund boy said from the flank. He clicked the dagger on his belt in and out of its sheath.
Sade flexed his thighs and straightened his knees. He might be able to get up, but not fight. Not yet, at least. His head was spinning from hunger or the potion Timos and his lady friends had given them. Sade studied the five boys, trying to take each one’s measure. As if reading his mind, Fin spoke. “If we wanted you dead, you’d already be dead.”
“We don’t have anything,” Sade said, pulling his pockets inside out, hopeful that he could simply deflect their attention.
“We know. You wouldn’t be down here if you did.” Fin’s expression softened. “We can offer you a dry place out of the damp, even something to eat, but you have to come now.”
Vondales looked to him, expectant. The decision was Sade’s. He looked at the rotund boy’s dagger, the warm clothes on all their backs, and their faces which were not drawn or narrow from hunger. Sensation returning to his legs, he said, “All right. We’ll come.”
The boys led them through parts of the city they never would have ventured to on their own, through alleyways, under bridges, even through sewers. Just when Sade thought they were coming to a dead end, Fin would disappear down a broken grate, slip through a gap in a wall, or duck under a fence, and they would continue. Finding their way back along the path they had come was soon impossible. Sade instead tried to track landmarks, the position of the hills outside the city, the whereabouts of the moon, the placement of a silo, but even those landmarks proved useless when they ventured underground through a series of tunnels that carried water from the hills to flush away the refuse and waste of the city. In places the stench of backed up excrement was overwhelming, but in other tunnels the water ran clear and swift. They made their way along a footpath that only allowed for them to walk single file.
“When the rains came each year the city used to flood until they built these tunnels,” Fin explained. “The first series were not big enough, so they built underground reservoirs. One of them is blocked and the Guild uses it as a shelter. The sheriff’s men leave us be as long as we keep the blockages out of the other tunnels. It’s a sort of truce we have with them.”
“What is the Guild?” Sade asked.
“You’ll see,” the rotund boy said.
Fin felt no need to be so mysterious. “It’s a band of us who live beneath the streets. Most of us runaways, orphans, and the like. If you want to thieve or beg on the streets, and if you are a runaway or orphan, you have to work with us.”
“And if we don’t?”
“Then you are our enemy. Enemies find it hard to do business.” But Fin smiled. “Life is tough on the streets. Why be enemies when together we can survive?”
They could hear the other children before they could see them. The chatter of voices, laughter, the occasional shout and cry drifted down along the tunnels. Sade was sure they would happen upon a crowd of them as they rounded each turn, but the tunnels were deceptive and sound carried far. It was not until they made three more turns that a tunnel opened up into a large reservoir. Its sides were lined with bricks and air came from the grates that lined the ceiling of the wall to their left. Water gushed through the far wall. It had been mostly blocked with stones, sticks, and logs so that the flow of water which normally would have filled the reservoir was reduced to a stream that bisected the room. In the dry spaces the children had set up broken tables mended with driftwood, mismatched chairs, and sleeping mats made of dirty rags. It was a city of the discarded. Tattered curtains and moth-eaten tapestries from dead houses hung from the ceiling providing privacy to a corner of the hall where girls kept to themselves, studiously avoiding eye contact with the boys.
There were youth of all ages—children who shouted and played, kicking a ball made of old sacks tied together with twine, and older boys who smoked pipes and even spoke to some of the more mature girls that mingled among them. Sade avoided looking at them, wary of what had happened the last time they had trusted young women.
Fin led them to a circle of boys seated on the floor. There were boys drinking grog and picking at the bones of a chicken as they played dice. Younger girls, supervised by an older one who played dice with the boys, were picking up the empty plates and refilling mugs. The place felt like a cross between a tavern and an orphanage.
One young man looked up from the game of dice and watched as they approached. His face was narrow. Around his neck dangled a number of necklaces made of shells, bones, and glass beads. Twine bracelets encircled his wrists. Without anyone telling him, Sade knew that this room belonged to him. This young man was seated in the center of the action and yet was apart from it, his wide hazel eyes scanning back and forth from the game before him to the far dark corners. The other boys looked to him as they joked and jibed, as if waiting to take measure of his reaction. Even the servant girls refilled his mug first. As Fin brought them closer, this leader of the underworld stood up, unfolding long legs. He was nearly a man, with the first shadows of a beard darkening his jaw and chin in a comely way. He offered no smile or greeting as his eyes darted up and down Sade and Vondales. His expression did not betray what he might have thought.
Underground royalty.
Fin introduced him as Nicholas and he was indeed the boy king of the underworld, leader of the Guild and—Sade knew—their only chance at survival. Sade dropped to his knees and pledged his allegiance to the Guild immediately Vondales followed.
So began their time of thieving and begging. All of which was organized by the older boys and a few indomitable girls. Begging was hard, but thieving easy. Interestingly there were two main methods used for thievery: out and out robbery, for which brawn and intimidation were required, or trickery which took cunning. Vondales took to robbery well. Solid, compact, and fast, he could beat most of the other boys in fisticuffs and wrestling. An unsuspecting citizen stood no chance against him. Sade on the other hand excelled at the art of the scheme which took more preparation but often yielded a greater reward.
Sade and his brother were quick studies. They learned how to pick locks, pockets, and importantly, how to profess innocence if caught. Sade could talk himself out of predicaments other boys could not, mainly as a result of his accent and the way his mother had raised them, making sure they spoke properly and correctly. When cornered and accused, Sade could convince adults that he lived a respectable life with a comfortable merchant family—except those times when they were caught red-handed, which often simply required flight and stamina to outrun their pursuers.
Sade found the opportunities in the underside of the world were great. Men cheating on their wives with mistresses were good marks. Sade would steal into the windows of whore houses and swipe a change purse right from a man’s trousers, hanging on a bed post. In the dark, huffing, puffing, and sighing over one another, the adults would be none the wiser. Drunkards passed out on the street and groaning in the gutter made easy targets for pick-pocketing. Men who gambled in the taverns could be distracted by girls (as he and his brother had been) when they were winning, and comforted by them when they were losing—all for a price. Sade, with his quick mind and knack for numbers, proved more effective at negotiating these transactions than other boys.
Begging, which the younger boys and girls were made to do, was harder than thievery. Sade was too old anyway and lacked the required cuteness. If anything, over time his facial features had become hardened: his cheekbones were more pronounced, his lips thin and fine. These were the features of his mother and they had made her exotic looking in her own time, but in the underworld they earned Sade the moniker of the “Snake.” With such a face he was largely useless for begging—he was simply too intimidating—but he recognized the potential inherent in panhandling. He knew an opportunity when he saw it. The children put little thought into where they positione
d themselves, except that they all crowded at busy corners, essentially competing with each other.
Sade took it upon himself to learn the city and with Nicholas’ permission, spread the children out, concentrating them in richer neighborhoods. He tracked their earnings. The ones who did well he rewarded with food, but not so much that they ever grew fat and lost their stricken, starving, pathetic look. When a child’s earnings dropped, Sade would move him or her to a new corner, unless they had become too old to beg, in which case the boys were taught how to steal and the girls how to please men. The children with the most pleasant faces earned more but not more than the lame ones. Lamed, scarred, beaten, and bruised children brought in the most coin. So much so that Sade had Vondales blacken eyes, scratch faces, and split lips. Children would be compensated for the pain from their own increased earnings, so they cooperated, for the most part. Any who didn’t found they were beaten more severely. Vondales grew to enjoy inflicting violence on his victims. It fed his confidence, which had been shattered since their own abandonment and maltreatment. To punish another was to be reassured of one’s own power.
So it was with a casual air that Sade suggested one day to Nicholas that they burn a boy. With permanent disfigurement Sade calculated the boy would earn more. Nicholas, he had learned, was loyal to his subjects but not beyond cruelty. It did not take long to convert him but it was impossible to find volunteers. Instead they waited to find a runaway, fresh off a boat—as Sade and Vondales had been. They pulled a similar trick on him to what Timos had played on them except this time the boy—Simon—was from the island of Kardiff. He was lured in by the promise of food, drugged, then his face disfigured with a hot iron.