The Inner Circle: The Knowing

by Cael McIntosh

His cell was so small that at times Ilgrin felt sure he’d lose his mind. How long could a man stare at the same four walls and maintain his sanity? How many days had he been locked away? His torment was such that he couldn’t decide whether he’d been more comfortable tethered to a horse or locked up in a cell with naught but his own thoughts and a mutant bird for company.

  Ilgrin turned his attention to the elf owl who’d been pacing for some time parallel to the length of the door. ‘What’re you doing?’

  ‘Trying to find some ways out.’

  ‘You can climb through the food hatch, remember?’ He didn’t know very much about birds, but made the assumption that Seeol’s avian memory had betrayed him.

  ‘Not for me.’ The owl scowled as far the expression were possible from his feathered face. ‘For you.’

  ‘You needn’t worry.’ Ilgrin shrugged, putting a hand on his shoulder where a dull ache reminded him of the injury he’d sustained weeks earlier. ‘I’ve made other arrangements.’

  ‘With El-i-mish?’ Seeol enquired, ceasing his pacing and levelling Ilgrin beneath his penetrating stare.

  ‘You know about that?’

  ‘I heard you talked.’

  ‘Well.’ Ilgrin frowned. ‘You know not to repeat what you heard to anyone right?’

  ‘Of course,’ Seeol croaked. ‘My eye is not stupid.’ Despite himself Ilgrin chuckled when the bird pointed at his eye, clearly having confused the difference between “I” and “eye.” ‘El-i-mish is very lovable to be helping you run away.’

  ‘She is, isn’t she?’ Ilgrin smiled, lowering his gaze to folded hands in his lap. He acknowledged the smooth blue tips. It was a small thing, another reminder of the many difference between himself and them. El-i-miir radiated beauty unlike anyone he’d ever seen. She easily surpassed Seteal, who, as far as he could tell, was completely insane. El-i-miir’s hair hung like woven silk. Her pale face was the image of perfection and her eyes . . . her eyes reflected the beauty of a cloudless sky.

  The Elglair woman could be with any man she chose and yet there she was, visiting him every chance she got. Did she truly love him? Did he love her? Ilgrin’s heart leapt at the prospect. Surely he couldn’t be so fortunate. Perhaps she merely pitied him in the knowledge that he was innocent. But what of the intimacy? That memory was all that kept him sane.

  Of course, Ilgrin knew the word 'innocent' was not one to be bandied around lightly. He was only innocent in so far as he’d never willing wished harm on anyone--but like many other silts before him, he too had reversed death. It was his kind that bore the responsibility for the slow destruction of their world and for that he, too, at least in some small part, was responsible. Ilgrin suffered a great deal of anxiety in the knowledge that his act of kindness may have caused bloodshed elsewhere.

  Ilgrin came out of his thoughts when he realised Seeol was staring up at him with piercing eyes. ‘I found her first.’ His tone was one of accusation.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I found El-i-miish first,’ Seeol said aggressively.

  ‘So you did.’ Ilgrin shook his head at the animal’s lack of sense. What did it matter that he’d met El-i-miir first? Unless . . . no, it was impossible. Surely Seeol didn’t think he’d developed feelings for her. The thought alone was so disturbing that Ilgrin immediately wrote it off as absurd. He’d been locked up far too long. Whatever the bird was trying to say, it couldn’t have been that.