“Well, well, that didn’t take long,” a voice growled. “You should have hit her harder.”
“Never mind that,” said the voice of the man who was carrying her. “She’s heavy anyways.” He roughly slid her off his shoulder, grabbing her arms before she could start hitting him.
Oh, she remembered everything now in all its dreadful clarity. She glared at her captor, hating his dark, beady eyes, hating the stubble on his jaw and neck, hating the scar on his chin. Some paces away Errance stood resolutely still, Daran just behind him. But where were they? How long had she been unconscious? Last she knew they had been in a grove of trees, but now—she craned her head, wincing at the pain, and saw jagged cliffs rising up all around.
“Lost, little girlie?” the man said, shoving his repulsive face far too close to hers. She thought to slap him, but he’d already straightened. “We’re back home sweet home.”
No. Tellie’s heart and stomach plunged in a sickening drop. How could they have returned to Tertorem so quickly? Unless…they used a portal. Again. Just like that, all the effort of the last few days, the weary but satisfying journey—it washed away in a torrent of despair.
Her captor’s hand prodded her shoulder, and she stumbled forward, reality shriveling her spirit. What had been the point of everything if it had just led back to here? The sky was gone, forest and rivers were gone, Tryss and Kelm and The Daisha were gone. Instead she walked with enemies in a matrix of sharp stone, and when they reached the end of the path, they stood on a ridge overlooking a desert of ash and bone.
She realized she had never seen more of Tertorem than the dark interior. But now, as she looked across the deathscape, her gaze drew to something nearer to them, something so frightful, her eye had refused to acknowledge its presence.
It rose from the roots of the mountains like a crown of death, sharp spires piercing the roiling clouds above its savage triumph. It seemed chiseled out of the very stone, few doors and windows glaring with squinting eyes down on the land as if it scorned the sight. A true castle of horror, like no other. But most terrible of all was the Nyght, floating above in defiance of mortal comprehension.
She had never seen it before, this sphere suspended between the tallest spires, which was said to contain the very essence of the Darkness himself. Now as she looked upon its remorseless ebony surface, she knew she looked upon the death of every dream, beauty, and hope that had and would ever exist in this hopeless, cruel world.
She wanted to cry. And then she wondered what good that would do. None. So there was no point at all.
Every fear and reverence filled Daran’s soul, pushing out breath, as he beheld the edifice of Tertorem again. The terrible awe never failed to stun him, the terrible desire never failed to stir. A tremble shook his body and a laugh stirred deep in his belly. He had done it! He had brought back the Prisoner, according to the command. He would be forever remembered and glorified in all the eternal reign of the Darkness. Perhaps he would become the next warden of Tertorem! Perhaps in time he would be second only to the Voice himself!
His eye wavered from the prison to the Prisoner, and elation turned to disgust. There that elf stood, eyes glazed and body lifeless…and unbound. To think that he had actually allowed such a thing. Arrogance restored, Daran reached out and jerked the Prisoner close, looping a cord around his wrists and tightening till the skin turned white. Shoving him aside, he turned next to the pale little girl.
Grabbing the roots of her hair, he twisted her head up to look at him. “Enjoying the view, pretty?”
“Let go of her,” the elf said. Quietly. Without looking at them.
Scowling, Daran straightened and stared. The Prisoner had an endless supply of nerve. “Watch it, scum. You’re in my territory now.”
The Prisoner looked at him, his calm expression gently disturbing. “I’ve been here since before your parents were born. I said, let go of her.”
A chill of lifeless fingers pattered across Daran’s shoulders. He shuddered involuntarily and turned away, releasing the girl. “Forward,” he growled. “The Darkness waits for his prize.”
The march down the death-ridden mountain felt far longer to Tellie than their entire journey of several days past. Sharp shards sliced at her boots, and in no time the leather began to peel away, causing her to wince with each step. A thick, choking film lined every breath. Every so often, they passed a few bones scattered amongst the shale. Once, they came upon a decaying body of some poor prisoner, left where it had dropped dead. Her stomach turned at the sight, and she looked away.
On the slopes of the encircling mountains, she saw paths strung with dark figures leading up to gaping tunnels. Mining work, she supposed dully, such as that at which Errance had once toiled. Was there any point to it besides spirit-breaking labor?
Though the journey was long, they reached the foot of the fortress all too soon. Passing through cowering sheds and shacks of sagging wood, they came to a stair and then up and up they climbed, following its zigzag pattern till they were high above the plain. Tellie’s legs burned with agony from the strain of the ceaseless climbing, and it took all her will not to scream and sob in frustration.
When she could, she glanced behind at Errance, trying to guess how he fared. He marched up the steep stairs without apparent effort, even while his captor labored after him. His head was erect, his shoulders straight, and his gaze level. Truly, he carried himself like a king.
King.
The moon medallion, still concealed underneath the collar of her dress, became unbearably heavy. He would never wear it. He would never return to Aselvia.
Neither would she. The pain of that realization stung sharp. For some time now, stronger than she realized, she had counted on Aselvia being her home. She’d counted on Leoren and Casara still being open to her. That she could finally learn what it really meant to be part of a family, loved and wanted. She’d counted on her dreams coming true.
No longer.
Deep within Tertorem, at the very heart—if such a place could hold a heart—waited the throne room and he who sat on the throne. The chamber had changed since the warden’s rule, turning from a simple room of stone to something…else. The hall was longer now, the sides closer. Pillars stood at intervals against the sides and the surfaces between sometimes seemed to be walls or sometimes looked like halls leading away or else looked like windows peering into the fathoms of the dungeons. There were no torches anymore, just an eerie and still half-light. Despite the tightness of the hall, a sense of vastness pressed down upon anyone standing inside and if they dared to look up, they would know why, for the ceiling could not be seen. Above, there was only a far-reaching blackness.
The throne itself was no longer a basic stone chair, but an artifact of broken shards and bones melted together. And on it sat the devil himself, the Voice of the Darkness. His hair drifted now and then as if touched by a breeze, though not a puff of air stirred the corpse-cold chamber.
A poisonous fire kindled in the shadow of his eye as Daran and a set of guards pushed Errance and Tellie through the entrance onto the slick hall floor. A savage hunger flitted across his face, a desire for nothing more than to spring and tear them apart. But he smiled instead.
“My lord,” the Voice said, rising and raising his arms, cloak cascading down his back. He rushed forward and swooped into a deep bow at his prisoner’s feet. “King of Aselvia, you grace me with your presence.” When he looked up, his ink black eyes laughed.
Errance winced and looked away. “Was it real?”
“What, did you think I fabricated it? Of course it was real,” the Voice assured, knowing that reality of his journey, now snatched away, would be a far more devastating truth.
The life in Errance’s eyes was only a faint and quiet flicker. “How did you find me?” he asked softly.
“Find you? Oh, come now. Were you ever far away, dear child?” Chuckling to himself, he took an appraising step back. “I pray your little stroll about the world enli
ghtened you. I can see it most certainly did your health well.” He came close and cupped Errance’s face in his hands, tilting it this way and that like an artist inspecting his most prized sculpture. “In that short time, you nearly returned to the height of elven beauty and strength. One would barely know your previous state except for those little deltha tattoos through your eye.”
Without warning, his hands dropped to Errance’s neck, seized the collar, and ripped the shirt open. Errance staggered forward at the violence of the action, but the Voice steadied him with a hand. “Oh yes,” the demon said, tapping a finger on the Prisoner’s chest. “There’s this mark too. I hope you didn’t forget it.”
Tellie stared, appalled. What the Voice said about his health was true, she had not really noticed how vast the change was until she saw Errance here in only days since he’d last stood in the same place. His starving body had filled out, the muscles nourished, the skin calmed. A body of perfection…except…except for those dark etchings scrawled into his chest. She had forgotten. But Errance had not. Not with every breath that strained the skin still raw and red around the words and symbol burned into him.
She took a step forward. Though no concrete plan had formed in her mind, she knew with upmost conviction that she could not stand by and watch the demon torment him. Had she not walked in the Unseen and driven the Darkness from Errance’s dreams time and time again?
But as she stepped forward, she felt a ribbon of the Voice’s consciousness flick towards her. And she stopped dead in her tracks.
After all, she was just a small girl. These were not dreams. Just a cruel reality. She had no place in this story, the dealings of darkness and high immortals were all beyond her, and she was just a mistake that should cower in the corner because in the end she could make no difference. The thoughts swarmed in, perhaps not fully her own, but still in control. The shadows embraced her as she slipped back.
“You have a choice, my prince,” the Voice purred, his tone as smooth and compelling as silk. “If you aren’t careful, I might be persuaded by some of my friends to return to you to them.”
The threat struck true. The final shred of color fled from the prince’s face, and shuddering, he bent his head down between his shoulders.
The Voice gave a friendly laugh and patted Errance on the cheek as if he was reprimanding a child for being afraid of a harmless thing. “I understand. Those wretched demons of mine are so difficult to control. But I’m here now, and we can speak reasonably. Just because you’re back in…well, hell…it doesn’t mean your former treatment has to continue. All I ever wanted is for you to read a book. Is that so hard?”
The elf tensed, ready to reply, but the Voice halted him with a hand. “Ta, ta—wait. I know how this goes. How it’s always gone. And I’m getting a bit tired of repetitive scenes, aren’t you? I want you to think this through very calmly. You’ve had time to grow calm, yes? A little walk out in natures does wonders for a soul. So think—to read the Moonscript, you must return home. Your most cherished dream, home. So determined to leave it as a youth, so determined to return now. Ah, but that does not matter. If that is your wish, who am I to deny you? So home you go. You could stay there indefinitely after you tell me everything that is in the Moonscript, because you are now king. I would not stop you, I would not care.”
He strolled over to a table that may or may not have been present before and took up a pitcher, pouring water into two glasses. The water twinkled in a song of silver stars. The Voice took a swallow with an appreciative sigh and then he held out the other glass to Errance.
Errance ignored it.
Eyes narrowing, the Voice grabbed the prince’s jaw in one hand and squeezed his fingers tight into the hollows of his bone. The second he pried Errance’s mouth open, he poured the glass’s content inside. Before it could be spit back out, he clamped his prisoner’s mouth and nostrils shut. For a long while, much longer than one would have thought was possible, Errance held the liquid in his mouth, and the Voice began to hum a jaunty little tune as he waited. Then the elf’s shoulders and stomach started to tremble with desperation for breath, and at last his throat convulsed in a hard swallow.
The Voice released him, all pleasant smiles again. “There, see? It was just water. The only harm done was that which you gave yourself by being so stubborn. All I wanted to do was help you, and you refused without my insistence. That’s what this really is all about. Now I know you have refused to read the Moonscript for so long because you believe the Higher World must be separated from the Lower, but that is honestly wrong!”
He swept into his throne, throwing out a hand. “I mean, really, how unfair. The celestial elves should not be treated with such favoritism. A perfect world, bah. The people in the Lower World have more trials so they are the ones who should have more privileges. And anyway, trials have proven to build character and birth wisdom. The more you experience, the more powerful you are. You know this. Why should the celestial elves be kept in ignorance? You act as if these elves would lead horrid lives if they were exposed to this world. How so? Your people in Aselvia live in beauty and grace, though you call this world broken. Why should the celestials be made so separate? Is it not imbalanced? I want walls torn down. I want everyone to be made equal and given what is due. Don’t you see, Errance? Can’t you see it clearly?”
Tellie hunkered in the dark corner of the room and the longer she listened, the faster her head spun on the end of a string. How right the Voice was! What a shame it had been that there had been such a misunderstanding all this time. The Voice wanted to be fair; he wanted to create equality for all.
Errance’s voice, cold and clear, cut through her ensorcelled thoughts like sharpened steel. “Yes, I can see it, Voice. If I reveal the secrets of the Moonscript, and if you are able to penetrate the celestial shield, then the elves therein will suddenly and brutally be exposed to your evil. Do not pretend you’ll strip their protection and then leave them alone. You will attack, and they, a people of peace and not of war, will be defenseless before you. The elves of Aselvia will come to aid them, and there will be a terrible war where thousands will die. If they manage to drive you off, you’ll simply retreat into darkness, dragging hundreds of prisoners with you. Captive elves, Celestial and Aselvian, to be tortured at the indulgence of your demons. My own horror story—played out in hundreds of fresh lives. You think I have had seventy years to change my mind? I have had seventy years to realize why I cannot! I’ll never read the Moonscript and your plan will never succeed.” Out of breath, Errance lifted his face and looked the Voice directly in the eyes. “Not on my life.”
“Not on your life, perhaps,” he conceded. With fluid grace, he spun and strode over to Tellie before she realized that the inevitable was happening. Her heart leapt as his hand came to rest on the top of her head.
“Not on your life, but what about hers?”
Errance went as pale as the moon itself, a tremor running through his body. “There is nothing I can do to save her,” he said in a low voice.
“Are you quite sure?”
The elf’s eyes glinted. “The lives of others are not mine to bargain with.”
“Of course they are,” he snapped. “You’re the king, that’s what a king does.”
“A king,” Errance said, slowly and steadily, “protects his own.”
“Is that what your father told you?” The Voice’s face contorted into a snarl and he lunged forward. Grabbing Errance’s hair, he wrenched his head back to look up at eternal darkness above. “Your father is dead,” he hissed in his ear. “It’s time to make your own path.”
Breathing hard, Errance closed his eyes. “The only life I can offer,” he whispered, “is my own…to do whatever you wish with it.”
The Voice threw back his own head and laughed. “But Your Majesty, we’ve already done everything we’ve wished with it.”
Grimacing, Errance forced the next words out as if they tore out his soul with them. “There are those who woul
d take pleasure in the fact that I offer myself freely.”
Smile frozen on face, the Voice spoke through clenched teeth. “But we’re not talking about their pleasure, are we? We’re talking about mine. And the only thing that would please me is if you read the Moonscript.”
“Well, I WON’T!” Errance shouted. “Torture me to the end of my days, kill all my friends, ruin the world, I don’t CARE! I shall never reveal the secrets of the Moonscript to you!”
Tellie gasped and looked up in terror at the Voice. Whatever fury those words ignited would be unleashed on her. Couldn’t Errance at least attempt to save her, wasn’t she worth the effort?
The thought bit her conscience an instant thereafter. He had attempted, offered a sacrifice of himself that was surely far more terrible than she could know. And he could do no more because that was their reality. They were both doomed already so why bring the celestials into it? Even if an exchange could be made, was she truly so selfish a person as to want her life over thousands of others? She had seen it from afar…the miraculous beauty of the Higher World, so should she not feel a great conviction to keep it safe?
Impending loss hung in Errance’s eyes, and she would not strengthen its agony any more. She’d be courageous in death. Heroic, even.
She wondered if all heroes trembled so violently.
But the Voice cast not a glance her way. That smile remained fixed on his face, growing more awful with every second. His breath hissed out between his teeth in ashen smoke. “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, I believe you. Nothing will change your mind, will it? You have driven my Darkness to his wit’s end.” He heaved a pathetic sigh and smoothed a hand down his face like a man who has given up on an age-old dream.
Frowning, Errance stepped back, sensing a trap.
The Voice cocked his head as if listening to something and then gave a decisive nod. “And so, I am afraid that if you will not give me your gift…then I must take it from you.”
Moonscript (Kings of Aselvia Book 1) Page 36