In the Darkness Visible

by Ted Neill

  Gabriella knew that if they were going to escape, she needed to learn more from this man. She might even have to make an ally of him.

  “Has Sybil ever killed a visitor to the island before?” she asked.

  Meeshock looked up, startled. His nose crinkled as if he had just encountered an unpleasant smell or sensation. He snorted. “You are the first visitors to this rock. Most others have been warned that the island is cursed. No one comes here any longer. No ships even sail within sight. All the trade routes have broken down.”

  “Then how do you have all this food?”

  Meeshock raised his knife at Gabriella then pointed it in the direction of the pantry.

  “Sybil, in her wisdom—meaning I told her—cast the same spell of suspension on all the food stuffs, so we would not starve.”

  “But why did she not freeze you? Was there any one else she did not freeze?”

  Meeshock stopped his cutting and stabbed the knife into the table so that it stuck there, quivering.

  “What are you saying? Are you accusing me of some sort of conspiracy with the girl? I hate her. I despise the little wench. I would kill her if she did not have that blasted wand. I will kill her one of these days, mark my words. She released me because she wanted entertainment. Plus the little wretch can’t cook for herself. She still wants to be waited on like royalty. Little bucket of puke.”

  Despite the heat of the fire, the room felt as if it had grown colder. Meeshock dropped the vegetables into the cauldron and slammed down the lid. He marched to the pantry to pull out a fresh bag of salt and threw it on the table, all the while barking at Gabriella.

  “You need to forget about that blue freak of a friend you had. He’s dead, and you will be, too, if you don’t learn to look out for yourself. You need to listen to me. Work with me. You can help me beat her. We can do away with her and take the wand.”

  Gabriella’s face flushed with heat to hear Ghede described as a freak, but she sucked in her words of protest. Meeshock was trying to get her to join in a conspiracy to kill a girl her age. If he were willing to kill Sybil, Gabriella knew it was not safe for her to cross him either.

  “You want to take the wand to lift the curse?” she asked, testing him.

  Meeshock paused as if she had said something he had not expected. Then he offered her a wide smile. “Of course, yes, we’ll release all these poor people. But you need to learn a few things first, little—what is your name, by the way?”

  “Gabriella.”

  “Gabriella. Beautiful name. You need to learn some things, and so do your companions out there.”

  “If anyone can talk sense into someone, Omanuju can. Perhaps he can get her to release the people and us.”

  Meeshock stopped, his chin resting on his fist. “It is best that he not try. He does not know her like I do. It’s a waste of time. Also, you both need to know a few things in order to survive. First, never suggest that she looks older or that she has grown. As far as we are concerned, she looks the same as she did the day of her birthday when she got that wand. She is not outgrowing the dress—the dress is just shrinking—but she still looks radiant. Second, do not call her highness or majesty, those are things you call grown-ups. Third, do anything she asks of you, or else you will pay dearly.” He rolled up his sleeve to show scarred and twisted skin that had healed from burns.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “I will have my revenge.” Meeshock opened the salt.

  “Meeshock, why do you wear the mirrors?” Gabriella asked as she caught her own frightened reflection. Her hair remained tied up in an attempt to look her best for royalty. All their hopes felt like a cruel joke now.

  “You are a perceptive girl. It took Sybil some time to learn the wand, and she was often testing out its powers and spells on me. One day when she was angry with me, she fired a blast but missed. The spell struck a shiny candelabrum, and it shot in all directions. I put two and two together. The spells work like light . . . they will reflect off of shiny surfaces. I don’t even think she realizes this. But I wear these mirrors as protection. If she ever spells me again, it will reflect back and hit her.”

  “Doesn’t she wonder why you wear them?”

  “I tell her that it is in tribute to her unchanging beauty.”

  “Can I get some for Omanuju and myself?”

  Meeshock’s looked down his nose at her. “I will get them for you, if I’m convinced that you are truly on my side.”

  Gabriella nodded slowly. She suspected she never would be but said nothing, letting her silence imply willingness. It seemed to be enough for Meeshock. He went back into the pantry and returned with a crate of eggs. He removed the eggs from the straw that cradled them to reveal the crate’s false bottom. From the hiding place, he produced a green vial of milky liquid.

  “This is poison. A bit in her food each night will eventually do the job. Now, she always makes me taste her food first, but together we might be able to distract her and slip it in . . . .” Meeshock stopped and put a hand on her shoulder. “You look ill, little one. I promise this does not kill just by sight.” Meeshock laughed at his own joke.

  Gabriella did feel sick. Her limbs were trembling. “I’m sorry, it has been a terrible day. Is there a privy around here somewhere?”

  “Come this way.” Meeshock led Gabriella through the doorway across the kitchen. They walked a short distance down a hallway to a row of small doors. Meeshock opened one, revealing a small compartment with a bench with a wooden lid on it. Above the bench, a window let in a strong, fresh breeze.

  Meeshock ushered her inside and closed the door, then he locked it. “This is just for safety’s sake, to make sure you don’t try anything foolish like running off. Just bang and call for me when you are finished.”

  Gabriella had only time to get out the words, “All right,” before she felt the vomit rising in her throat. She lifted the lid and leaned over the hole. There was no bottom. It opened to the churning sea and rocks a hundred feet below. The sudden vertigo melted her last resistance. She vomited. She had not eaten anything but biscuits most of the day, in preparation for the “feast” that had been awaiting them. Now even they were wrenched away from her, dropping into the sea. She wretched again, this time only bile.

  Although her churning stomach was empty, her body still shook, and her throat heaved as if in protest of all the shame and evil around them. Her dry heaves finally dissolved into sobbing. Behind a locked door, with the sound of the surf filling the chamber, she cried without restraint.

  A few times she thought she heard Meeshock creep up to the door to listen, but she did not care. She was curled in a tight ball on the floor, thinking of home and wishing she were there. It would not be so bad to return now. What did it matter if the Servior controlled the tower? She tried to imagine such a scenario, and at the moment it did not seem unlivable. Life would go on, she was sure. Anyway, she no longer had any choice. They could not pilot the Elawn without Ghede. She wondered if they could even get home.

  New tears came to her eyes. Would she die here? She pictured Meeshock, his bitter eyes, his breath of rot, holding up the bottle of poison. As much as she hated Sybil, Gabriella had no desire to be her executioner. But what else could she do?

  The walls of the chamber seemed to be closing in around her. She dropped her head to her knees and felt something poke her in the chest. She pulled the sprig and leaves, still wrapped in the linen cloth, from her pocket. Even in the dim light of the privy chamber, the leaves glowed with jewel-like radiance, just like Ghede’s skin had. When she touched the leaves, calm washed over her. It was as if a bit of sunlight had broken through the clouds to shine directly on her. She felt her resolve return. Omanuju and Adamantus were still trapped with Sybil. Gabriella would have to do something to make sure she did not lose them as well.

  She stood up. Time was precious. She wanted to pace, but the best she could do was turn in a circle. It only made her dizzy. She sat beside the hole and sta
red down at the surf until she had a plan. She needed a mirror, but it would be too hard to get one while Meeshock was watching her. She did not want to ask him for one—she knew he would hold that over her until he was confident of her loyalty. No telling how long that could take. Gabriella could not wait. She needed a mirror now. She listened to the door for Meeshock, then tried the handle. Still locked. She had to explore other options.

  She stood on the bench and leaned out the window. The drop was a hundred feet or so, not into deep water but white, violent surf foaming over sharp rocks. Normally it would have been a drop that made her sick with vertigo, but she tried to tell herself it was a trifle compared to the heights she was used to on the Elawn. Above, the castle walls rose in a tapered fashion. The privy itself stuck out from the wall so there was a small ledge she could stand on, and a few feet above that was a window on the next floor. It would not be in reach even if she were standing on the privy roof—she would still have to climb. The gaps in the rocks of the castle were large, maybe large enough for her fingers and toes.

  A shadow moved under the privy door. Gabriella made a coughing sound again. The effort alone made some of her nausea return. The shadow moved away, and Meeshock’s footsteps receded. She slipped off her shoes and placed them as they would be if she were sitting on the bench, just in case Meeshock looked under the door. She yanked the twine from her hair and tossed most of it down the privy hole along with her hopes of a royal dinner. Escape was her focus now. She pulled her hair into a single pony tail with the rest of the twine, then stepped into the window.

  The stone of the sill was cold under her bare feet. She was uncomfortable leaning out of the window, her center of gravity dangerously extended over the water. With her legs braced against the window’s sides, she stretched up to grab the roof of the privy. Loose flakes of mortar shifted under her fingers. She had not counted on that. The dust blew into her eyes. Once she had cleared it away with a few sweeps of her hand, she tested her grip, then swung her legs out and upwards.

  It was not graceful. By the time she had clawed her way on top of the privy roof, she had stinging cuts all over her legs and arms. The window on the next floor looked even farther now that she was outside the safety of the privy. The roof was such a narrow ledge she doubted that she could keep purchase on it if she fell down from above.

  “Just don’t fall,” she told herself, sending a prayer to Ghede to watch over her.

  She was on the east side of the castle, so the island cast a long somber shadow on the waters below as the sun set. A pink moon, waxing to full, was rising early in the east. How could so much time have passed, she wondered. They had a little more than two weeks left to complete their journey to find Nicomedes’ treasure and return it in order to pay for the tower lands, and they had not even reached the eastern continent yet. She realized with Ghede gone, the trip was a failure. If they escaped, they had to turn back.

  If they escaped. Gabriella turned her attention back to the rock wall inches from her face. Lichens grew profusely along the stones, adding to the island’s sense of decay. At least the gaps between the stones were larger up close, but her hands and feet were smooth and slippery from her sweat. She rubbed her palms and her feet in the mortar dust and began to climb.

  Her feet held. She knew she did not have strong arms, and she would have to rely on her feet to push her upwards. She told herself it would be just like climbing a ladder.

  She made it up one level of stones, and the second tier was not difficult. Although she could find excellent handholds for the third, she could not find space enough for her toes. Her arms were growing tired of the burden already. She searched the wall for better holds. To her left, the mortar had washed completely away from around a stone. It would provide perfect footing, allowing her to reach the windowsill above. But the stone was over the water, beyond the safety of the privy roof.

  The wall to the right did not provide any better routes. She shifted her weight and slid her foot into the crack on the left. At least it was wide and deep. She could wedge half her left foot in. She secured her fingers around the next stone. The corner of the sill was just inches away. She positioned her right foot just above the left in order to push off.

  There was an ominous shifting beneath her. The stones clicked against one another with a deep tapping noise. Her first instinct was to grab hold tighter and deeper, but she was already holding as tightly as she could and the stones would not give any more leverage. The stone without the mortar around it had shifted when she had placed her right foot atop it, tapping the brick beneath. Now her left foot was pinched under. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest she was sure it would knock her off balance. She pictured herself falling backwards, her foot bones breaking as she came loose, her body crumpled on the rocks in bloody surf.

  The breakers roared beneath her. She took a deep breath and retraced her motions. The stone had moved when she had put her right foot upon it. She lifted her right foot. The pressure on her left foot went away. She would have to anchor her left foot somewhere else. She slipped it in a vertical crack between two stones. She could not push off this way, but she could compensate.

  The position put additional strain on her arms, but that was simply the cost she would have to pay. She returned her right foot to the movable stone, secured a hold, then slowly pressed downward. Her leg straightened. Her hands reached the sill. She was not safe yet. Her arms were trembling. She knew at best she could hang, but she lacked the strength to pull herself up. She regretted not eating more that day—she felt weak and lethargic. Her father would have reminded her to breathe deep in such moments of tension. She did. With more certainty, she moved her left leg upwards, slowly, like a cat stalking prey. She found a hold, tested it, then pushed.

  Her elbows crossed over the sill. Now she kicked wildly at the wall, heaving herself forward through the window and tumbling onto the floor. She sprawled out on the floor, gasping. Soaked with perspiration, her body left a wet print on the floor when she finally found the strength to stand.

  Thank you, Ghede, she thought.

  She looked around, but no mirrors. She appeared to be in a reading room and she needed to find bedchambers. She approached the door, pulled down on the handle, and pushed it. The door shuddered as it groaned open on its hinges. The hallway was empty of frozen residents of the castle. She dashed from one door to the next, but they only led to more public rooms that were useless to her. Bedchambers must be on another floor, she surmised.

  Gabriella ran until she found a stairwell, pausing briefly to note the way she had come. She started up, stopping at the next landing, and looked down the hall. It was like the one before. Her instincts told her to keep going. The following floor was the same, but the fourth level held promise: a red carpet covered the stone floor. Vases stood in alcoves, and rich tapestries drooped with their loads of dust and cobwebs. Gabriella darted from the stairwell, turned the corner, and almost shrieked.

  It was clear that not everyone in the castle had been taken unawares. Here was a scene of resistance. Soldiers, frozen in various poses of attack, crowded the hallway. Their intact bodies contrasted with the decayed remains of men Sybil had not shown as much “mercy” to. She had killed many and left them to rot. Desiccated limbs stretched forth from charred armor, the skulls’ jaws gaping open. Broken bones protruded through skin that was dry and papery.

  Gabriella flung herself forward without looking down. She turned into the first room. A lavish couch and a cedar armoire told her this was what she was looking for—a private chamber. She dashed into the next room and was startled again. Two figures had been caught by Sybil’s wand: a beautiful woman with flowing, raven hair and her lady-in-waiting.

  Gabriella realized that someone had been there since the fateful birthday. Many times, for there were dried and fresh flowers placed in a ring about the noble woman. The stones at her feet were stained with puddles of wax where fat candles had burned themselves out.

  There wa
s a place on the edge of the bed where the mattress was still depressed—not from someone sleeping but someone sitting up on the edge of the bed, gazing. Gazing at this woman. Who was she? Gabriella wondered.

  She ran to the vanity, a dressing table where the woman must have once sat to do her hair. Markings in the dust revealed that two mirrors had been removed. And then Gabriella made her discovery: a small hand mirror. She snatched it up, turned it over, and saw purple lilies etched onto the frame. She pumped her fist. Something finally had gone right. But she could not linger. The flowers, the candles, the depression in the mattress, were reminders of Meeshock’s presence—his obsession with this woman and her beauty. She stuffed the mirror into her pocket and ran back down the stairs, past the scene of battle and the empty chambers back to the window over the privy. Halfway there she realized it would be easier to climb down if she had a rope. She returned to the hallway with the soldiers, but none of them had one. Time was running out. She knew she had been gone too long. Her mind was racing as she rushed into another room. It was a bedroom. She ripped the blankets from the bed, stripped the sheets, then used her knife to cut them into thirds. She was grateful for Ghede’s instructions about knots as she tied sheets end-to-end and sent him another prayer of thanks.

  The wind gusted, ruffling the canopy over the bed and opening a closet door. Gabriella jumped, dropping her knife. Gabriella did not want to see what she thought she had seen, but she could not keep herself from crossing the room, putting her hand on the closet door, and opening it further. She knelt down beside two children—a girl maybe a few years younger than Gabriella herself was curled protectively around her brother, a toddler. The girl’s face was obscured by her hair. Her hand was over her brother’s eyes. His mouth was bent in a terrified expression. The girl’s other hand was up, as if to reach for the closet door.

  Gabriella wiped her nose and sniffed. She was surprised how this affected her. For the first time she reached to touch one of the frozen people, clasping the girl’s outstretched hand as if somehow she could offer her comfort.