Not daring to stay on the ledge a moment longer, he crawled the rest of the way to the solid stone road and stared down the wall again in an effort to see her. “Tryss!” he shouted again.
“Where did you come from?”
Gagging on his next call, Kelm jerked upright and stared at the soldier who had just come around from behind a battlement turret.
“We’ve got a runaway!” the man shouted over his shoulder to who knew what reinforcements and leapt forward, drawing a short blade.
Not even waiting to see how many people would be in pursuit, Kelm jumped to his feet and charged up a set of stairs to the walkway above. Every leaping stride felt as if it would be his last as shouts sounded behind him and the wind threatened to trip his feet. But he sped along, taking a new turn or road whenever it was offered. A short tunnel carved the way through mountain outcrop, and when he came to the other side he found a vast view of the fortress and the plains beyond.
Since he heard no sound of his pursuers, he took the moment to catch a breath. Brights, that had gone all wrong. He had no way of knowing if Tryss was still alive, and if she was, how would they find each other again? Maybe The Daisha…if he could get her attention…
A roar of voices thundered over the wind. He scrambled up to the top of the parapet to see over into the valley just underneath. Among the ridges of the mountains, a river of people was pouring out from dozens of cave mouths. For a sickening moment, he thought they were enemy soldiers. But the next instant he saw that none of them wore armor, but flailed shovels, picks, and whips like wild men. When the first few Tertorem guards were swallowed up in their assault, Kelm dropped back down to the ground in shock.
The slaves were fighting back.
“Why now?” he wondered aloud.
“We’re doing it, little lass!” the miner shouted in triumph.
Tellie wished she could shout with him, but her concentration was too occupied by not falling and facing death by trampling feet. The vicious energy of the seething throng was both terrifying and exhilarating. Now that their spirits had been awoken, nothing could stop the slaves as they clambered across the mountainside, ignoring the narrow paths, slipping and sliding on the loose rock.
Tellie climbed her way to a stairway leading up into the levels of the fortress, and turned to watch the mob of slaves continue their rush downhill, making straight for the quarters of the slave-masters that dwelt at Tertorem’s foot.
“Go to it, lass!” the miner’s voice called one last time, before being drowned out in the inarticulate rage.
Shuddering at the slavers’ approaching doom, she turned away from the sight and started up the stairs as fast as her legs would go. As she reached the first level, a new sound swept in on a gust. A sound of ringing blades and battle cries.
Afraid of what she might see, she climbed up a stairway to the top of a high wall and stared out to the southern edge of the citadel. Upon the grey shadows of the fortress’s base, glimmered a forest of silver figures, blue and green banners flickering out amongst them. Dumbfounded, she leaned in for a better look.
A sudden nausea gripped her stomach, and she stepped back, only just realizing that the wide walkway on which she stood did not have anything barring her from a long fall to death. Carefully, she knelt down before raising her eyes to study the army again. “Who…?”
She watched a distant shape shoot through the air, darting to and from boardwalks. A glad cry burst from her lips. “The Daisha!” Delighted, she clapped her hands to her mouth. “They’ve come! Is that the elves? It must be—it is! Oh, Errance will have to come now!”
“Will he, indeed?” a voice growled.
Gasping, she spun around and stared down into the face of Daran. He stood at the bottom of the stair with a sharp scowl and an even sharper sword. “You weasel,” he said. “I might have known you’d wiggle your way free.”
She backed away, looking to her left and right for the next stair down. There wasn’t one. Daran stalked up the steps to the top and headed towards her, his firm footfalls closing the gap of her fluttering retreat. The hooded shadows of his eyes and curl of his mouth paralyzed her somehow, and he was already far too close when she turned for a full-out run.
But too late.
His hand snaked out and caught in her curls, dragging her back towards him. “I’ve had enough of you, you useless brat!” he growled, swinging up his blade. “I’ve had enough of your running!”
Run. Flee. Escape. No. NO.
She too was tired of running.
A snarl ripped from her throat. She twisted around and leapt straight for his face, her fingers grabbling for his eyes, and her teeth snapping at his nose. As she collided into him and bit down hard, Daran howled and staggered backwards.
Gravity seized them both.
The red rage swept clear of Tellie’s mind in a surge of terror, and she thrust off him as the fall began. She leapt for the wall, but his fingers were still in her hair, and as her feet touched stone, she felt herself pulled back off with him. She dropped to the stone, fingers seizing the ledge just as she slipped off.
Daran’s hand tore from her hair, and she heard his scream spiral down below to end in a soft, sickening thud.
She clung to the wall’s edge, shaking from the effort and shock of what had just happened. With a little moan, she tried to pull herself back to the top, but any remaining strength had gone slack. Already, she could feel her cold fingers losing their grip.
“No…no, no,” she whimpered.
“Tellie!” A terror-filled call rang in her ears, startling her so badly she almost let go then and there. “Tellie!” Footsteps pattered up the stair, and she looked up to see Kelm peering over the edge. “Tellie, thank the One!” He dropped to his knees, caught her hands, and pulled her back up onto the wall with a heave.
For a moment all she could do was huddle against the ground, soaking in its solidity. Kelm’s arms looped around her, and he half dragged, half led her down the stair. But as they reached the bottom of it, her legs gave out. “Wha—what are you doing here?”
He crouched beside her. “We came to rescue you! What are you doing out here? How’d you get out? I can’t believe it! You actually took on Daran and won! I couldn’t believe my eyes, and then you fell over and I thought you were gone. Daran sure is. Yech. Not a pretty sight.”
“Stop it!” she gasped, voice cracking. “D-don’t say that. I d-didn’t mean to k-k-kill him. He wasn’t supposed to…fall…down.” Quivering, she pulled up her knees to her chest and began to cry. She didn’t dare wonder what Daran’s last thoughts were, what it must have felt like to fall.
“Hey, hey there, Tellie, it’s all right, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Kelm wrapped an arm around her shoulders in a comforting hug. “It’s all right,” he repeated. An awkward kiss brushed her cheek.
Well. That snapped her from shock in a hurry. She straightened with a deep blush. She sniffed back a few more tears and pushed to her feet.
“Where’s Errance?” Kelm asked, hovering beside her arm as if he expected her to drop again.
“I found another way out, and he stayed behind,” she explained, stumbling along in determination. “He’s spent, Kelm. But I convinced the slaves to revolt and maybe the fight will strengthen his heart somehow. What about you? Did you bring this army?”
Kelm reddened and looked away. “Coren brought the elf army, and Tryss convinced some chemas to accompany us. And The Daisha found a way through the mountains. I haven’t done much of anything.”
“You saved me,” Tellie mumbled.
Not seeming to hear that, he went on. “And I lost Tryss. She fell down a hill in camouflage, and I wasn’t able to find her.”
“Where?” Tellie demanded, paling. “Do you think she….”
“I don’t know where she is,” he said miserably. “I think she’s all right. I hope. But I had to run.”
Biting her lip, Tellie shoved back the fear. “I’m sure she’s fine. She has to be. Co
me on. We’ll find Errance and get out of here.”
oOo
Despite all the cold piercing her body, Tryss could feel one wash of warmth on her brow. A warmth that was also a bit wet and sticky. The rest of her body ached like she’d fallen from the highest tree in the jungle and had hit every branch along the way. What could have…
Her eyes flared open as memory rushed back in. Tertorem, the storm, the path, then falling, and a crack against her head along with a flash of sickly light. Gasping, she shoved up on her arm, only to collapse back down on the sharp rocks.
Argh, what were the north chemas thinking to keep their home up in the mountains? Falling down a cliff was ever so much worse than falling out of a tree. She sat up more carefully, cradling her head as she looked back and forth for bearings. Yes, there was the path and the fortress up the steep incline. Where was Kelm…how come he had not waited for her? Her stomach, already sick, lurched to an unfathomable depth. Oh, let him not be captured. Not that.
But the fear gave her the strength she needed. Snarling, she struggled back up to the path, not caring how the wind tried to pull her back or how the stones spitefully gave way. She gained the high ground and leaned for a moment against the wall.
Tellie and Errance were somewhere inside and her best guess put Kelm in there too. So what if she was alone and injured? The shadows would be an excellent cover even if she didn’t create a disguise all her own. All she had do was find them and then…she’d figure out what to do from there.
The first entrance she found had no door to close it, only a narrow black chasm in the face of the fortress. The moment she stepped through, the world went dark. And she knew she had gone far deeper into Tertorem than a single stride could have covered. The blackness weighed down in a heavy curtain upon every sense, every thought. For a moment, it was all she could do simply to stand and remember she could still breathe.
Then another step. And another. God help her, she would keep moving.
As she forced forward, a gradual perception of surroundings came to her…the depth of despairing souls caught in cages, cages of all sizes and shapes and torments. No matter how close they hung near to another, they were trapped in their own miserable solitude. She could not see them, but she felt them…felt the overwhelming loss and emptiness of shattered hearts.
It sent her gasping to her knees. She hid her head in her arms and blended into the blackness. This—this was Errance’s prison. She’d perceived it, but she had not known. She not even come close to understanding the horror he struggled to escape from. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, throat dry. “I’m sorry. Please, Ayeshune, please let me find him—let me find the children. Set captives free.”
With a surge of purpose, she shoved to her feet. No matter how many twists and turns this labyrinth threw at her, her path would remain true. So she walked.
And the wretched, entrapped souls glimpsed a bright figure of springtime hues drifting through their midst. Some saw it only for a fleeting moment and then forgot, but others gazed after it long after it disappeared, treasuring the sight within their heart and recalling other beautiful things lost to them long, long ago.
34
oOo
In the depths, in the darkness, there dangled a prisoner, and once upon a time, he had been a prince. He knew this not because he remembered those happy days but because in the blackest of nights it had been the only thing that kept him strong. When they’d tortured, taunted, and humiliated him, he had sworn to himself over and over again that no matter what they tried to mold him into, he was born to be a king. A man of pride, of honor, of grace…not a slave of shame and suffering.
Icy burning spread from his wrists where spiked shackles bit into skin, blood crusted his face, and his body throbbed with each heartbeat. Torment. Never ceasing, always creeping closer, deeper. The knowledge of what was to come clawed at his mind, demanding notice. The Voice would try again. If he just gave in he would not have to face that terrible battle again.
But wait—hadn’t the Voice said that the more he fought the less there would be of him at the end?
There then was the answer. He had to fight. He must have his spirit torn to shreds, for he knew what his fate would be when the Darkness finished with him. He would be tossed away to the demons and their minions like a bone to a pack of starving wolves. Each ten years had felt like eternity…what then would eternity feel like? He needed to destroy himself in this one method possible. There must be nothing left of him at the end, just a shell so that he would never again…
…never again hear the joyful ripple of Tellie’s laughter or see her curls bounce on her shoulders. Never again see Kelm roll his eyes or watch him lengthen his stride to match his own. Never again feel Tryss’s arms tight around his waist or feel her cheek pressed against his neck…
No, no, no. Life and love had been stolen from him that dark night seventy years ago. He could not, would not think that way, for there was no hope. Terrified at where his mind might leap next, he focused on the present. He hung from chains in frigid, scalding darkness, his body again broken. Nothing existed beyond this nightmare twisting through him.
Tell me of Aselvia, Tellie had pleaded.
A single sob tore from his throat, spiraling out into shadow and swallowed whole without an echo. He did not remember Aselvia. If he had before falling into this abyss, even those memories were shades and shards. It was lost, all lost, as it had been in years past when the flame of his soul had flickered so far down the wick as to drown in its own wax. He did not know his homeland, his people, or even who he was—
“Daava!” The little boy, blue eyes full of tears, sat up in bed, soft blankets bundled to his chest, and called anxiously until a door adjoining to his opened, and a tall man with white hair swept to his bedside.
The father sat on the bed and cradled his boy to him, long, elegant hand clasping the small one. “A frightening dream?”
Hiccupping back a sob, the little boy nodded and huddled in closer. His father stroked his hair and whispered, “There, there, my little one. A foul dream cannot hurt you. Very little can hurt you unless you give it that power.”
The child drew back, small brow puckered. “But Daava, I fell yesterday and scraped my knees. It hurt, and I didn’t give it anything.”
His father smiled. “That’s true, isn’t it? We can be hurt physically. We can be hurt emotionally. But then there is you. Not your body. Not your mind. You. Pain will want to change who you are. It will want to force you to become something you’re not. But if you fight hard enough and stay true to the One, it cannot destroy you.”
The boy gazed solemnly up, his fair, young face thoughtful. “Who am I, Daava?”
The father’s eyes glowed with love. “You are the prince of Aselvia. You are the heir of the kingdom. But most of all, you are my beloved son.” He cupped his child’s face in his hands and kissed him on the brow. “Never forget who you are, Errance.”
His breath broke from his chest with a shuddering gasp. That…that was pure memory. A memory true and untouched by the filth of lie and illusion. He could not remember the last time he recalled something of his past so clearly.
All at once, he was frantic for more, desperate to find something else he knew had belonged to him. Love could not exist here but it had existed, and he needed it, he needed—
The memories came, fast and relentless.
He was a young boy straining to pull a bow to its limit, sighting down the shaft to a distant target, with Lord Leoren calling instruction from the side. As a young man, he sat on a bench leaning against a wall, breathing heavily from a sword duel. His father stood next to him, sword tucked under an arm, smiling down at him. They’d bested Lord Reyin that day, or Reyin had let them, or Daava had cheated a little bit as evidenced by the bolt of light that reflected off the blade into Reyin’s eye on a day when the sun was covered by clouds.
He remembered how his father always spent time each day with him, as if knowing how short t
he time would be. He remembered how he sat at his father’s right hand during feasts, a coronet smooth against his brow and the moon medallion resting upon his chest. Then how his father promised they would one day enter the secret room together, and he could at last read the Moonscript…
Newer memories started flooding in—Tellie trying to coax a smile onto his face, Kelm asking how to impress women, The Daisha nuzzling his ear, Tryss saying, “Your people need you, Errance. We need you.”
Never forget who you are, Errance.
He had to get out. Everything could not be simply over. There had to be a way.
For a few breathless moments he hung there, forcing himself to recall what he could of the chamber above him. There had been a bar and pulley, letting the chains down into the void like a bucket into a well. It was not covered.
Gathering all his strength into his core, he swung himself back and forth to build momentum. On the strongest swing, he flipped himself upside down so that his body ran up the length of the chains. Trembling from the terrible strain of supporting himself on his shackled hands, he began his next move. The pain of the spikes cutting into his wrists and the pressure in his shoulders threatened to overwhelm him. A small scream escaped before he could bite it back. He clenched his teeth, swearing silently. Would all his stamina unravel now after that snap?
Quickly, he shifted his weight onto one wrist, slackening the chain of the other. Catching his foot in the loose chain, he wrapped it up in a secure hold and then did the same for the other. When his feet were firmly twisted and supported in the chain, he swung and pulled himself up again, no matter how many lights burst in front of his vision.
Right side up once more, he clung to the taut chain, the length from his wrists to his feet dangling loosely around him. The dancing stars seemed to flicker out, nausea churned within him, and for a terrifying instant he thought he was going to lose consciousness. Please…no…But as he rested there, the chains under his feet as solid as any ground, his trembling body began to calm from the effort. He had no idea how long he stayed there, willing every muscle and bone to stop screaming. The celestial light inside him flickered as erratically as his heartbeat, threatening to go out.
Moonscript (Kings of Aselvia Book 1) Page 41