Dirge of the Dormant, page 31
part #5 of The Mindstream Chronicles Series
Ibsa raised her eyebrows. She hadn’t known what to expect, but it hadn’t been that. “Is that even possible?”
“It is. My father wasn’t born recen-bent. The god took the talent from my uncle, who ruled Mangend before me, and gave it to my father.”
“Why?” she asked. “How did it benefit Retar to strip one man of a talent and give it to another?”
“It’s a long story and quite irrelevant now. Suffice it to say it can be done, but as you intimated, Retar would only do such a thing if it’s to his benefit.”
“Or to his detriment if he refuses,” Ibsa said, nodding her understanding. “Are you certain this man would do with the Gatekeeper’s power what you wish?”
“I have something he’s quite fond of. Give a man a taste of poppy, and he’ll be your willing slave forever.”
“He’s addicted to poppy?”
Natan sighed. “That was a metaphor. No, he’s not addicted to a substance he could get from any decent apothecary.”
“Then what is it?”
The grand duke studied her for a long moment, his brown eyes narrowed as if assessing her trustworthiness. At last, he leaned forward. “I must have your solemn vow never to speak of this to anyone for any reason.”
Her curiosity piqued, Ibsa nodded vigorously. “Of course, Your Grace. You have my word. Your secret is safe with me.”
“I told you I’m sixty-seven years old.”
“Yes.” She found herself nodding eagerly. Tell me. Part of her wanted to swirl a subtle inscription to encourage him, but he seemed on the verge of divulging his secret willingly. I must be patient.
“This man is quite elderly. Far older than my great-grandfather would have been, but I keep him young and healthy, and for that, he’s extremely grateful. You would estimate him to be no older than five and twenty, thanks to the Water of Eternal Springs.”
Ibsa took in a sharp breath. She’d heard of the water, but she’d assumed those stories were nothing but fanciful tales made up by some wistful old woman lamenting the fading of her beauty. This was the god’s secret—the Water of Eternal Springs. Natan had it, or at least knew where it was. “This is the knowledge that’s been in your family for generations.”
He gave a conceding nod. “I’ve confided to you the water’s existence but not the knowledge of its source. That I will share only with my children when they’re old enough to understand its value.”
“I’m honored to have earned your trust, Your Grace.” Ibsa bowed in her chair. “I shan’t betray it. Did your great-grandfather first give this sage man the water?”
Natan nodded. “My guest has been drinking it for many years.” He narrowed his eyes as if to study Ibsa. “I imagine you were quite fetching in your youth. If you drank it now, you would find over the course of a few weeks’ time that your body would regress to its peak form, usually around age twenty-eight. Your wrinkles would vanish, your skin would become firm and supple, and your eyesight and hearing would sharpen. Sluggish thoughts would hasten. Memories that had faded would return with clarity as if you were living past moments again whenever you thought of them.”
Ibsa longed for a taste of it. Was he suggesting he might share it with her? If the grand duke didn’t, perhaps the Prime Witness would, with a little urging from scripture.
“If he stops drinking it, his body will gradually revert to its true age. His skin will wither, his organs will shrivel, he’ll go blind and deaf and possibly senile. Nothing could be more agonizing than to die alone, his family long dead.”
“Why would he stop drinking the water? Even with you dead, he could continue drinking it, could he not?”
Natan pointed to her as if she’d asked the most important question of all. “Because I’m the only one who knows where to get it.”
Which meant that until he divulged that secret, Ibsa couldn’t kill him either.
“Can you walk?” Jora asked.
“I don’t know,” Cyprianus said. “I haven’t done so since grand duke Ermand ordered me hanged in the courtyard. That must have been about seventy years ago.”
She shook her head. “How anyone could treat a prisoner so inhumanely is beyond me. Let’s hope that this water that’s keeping you young is also keeping your muscles and bones strong. Take my arm.” She offered her elbow, and he looped his arm in hers and grasped her forearm as well.
He took an unsteady step and staggered but caught himself before Jora’s reflexes set in. “I’m all right,” he said. His next step was more of a shuffle, but he didn’t wobble, as was the next. “I think I can do this.”
She walked him around the frame contraption he’d been strapped to for so long, and when she was satisfied he wouldn’t collapse, she took him to the door. The hallway was dark and quiet. “All right. Let’s go.” She started to lead him into the corridor, but he stopped.
“Don’t you want to travel unseen?”
“Through the ‘twixt? We can’t. We need Emelia to find Adriel and King Gerad. Sonnis, go unlock that door.”
As before, Sonnis pressed his finger to the keyhole, then turned his wrist. The lock clunked, and the door swung open. Outside the door was a steep, stone staircase that spiraled up into pitch darkness. Jora Observed herself to see where to step. Cyprianus took her right arm where each step on the curved outer wall was wider and he would be less likely to stumble. He held onto the wall with his free hand, and together they climbed slowly up, pausing when he needed to rest.
At the top of the stairs, Sonnis unlocked another door. There, they found a guard reclined in his chair, chin on chest, snoring loudly. On Jora’s whispered command, Po Teng killed him with the lightest touch of a finger. He shriveled into a grotesque skin- and cloth-covered skeleton about a third his original size.
“What magic is that?” Cyprianus asked. “I’ve never had an ally who killed that way.”
“I wick the water from a person’s body,” Po Teng whispered. “His blood turns to powder, and his organs shrivel to nuggets.”
“Extraordinary.”
After Sonnis unlocked the next door, Jora stuck her head out to see what was beyond. Another corridor, this one better lit. She opened the Mindstream and summoned Emelia. “We must be as quiet as we can. Po Teng, kill any soldiers we encounter, but sleep the servants. Emelia, I need you to find Adriel. She’s wearing a barring cuff and a kendern, and maybe a kastdern too.”
The ally cocked her smooth, bald head and angled her little ears. “Yes, I hear all three inscriptions.”
“Good. Lead the way.”
The hour was late, and the halls were quiet, the staff gone to bed. They made their way up another flight of stairs and down a couple more corridors, turning first right, then left, then left again. Emelia assured her it was the most direct route to Adriel’s room. A servant turned the corner, her arms full of laundry. Her eyes flew wide at the sight of the escaped prisoners and the allies, then they closed in sleep. She crumpled to the floor with a thump, the laundry spilling around and atop her. She asked Po Teng to catch the next one to avoid making any noise that might alert someone.
Emelia stopped abruptly in the corridor. “The woman you seek is in the room around the corner on the left.”
Jora nodded and opened the Mindstream and Observed herself.
Two armed men in mail stood guard outside Adriel’s room. The door was undoubtedly locked, and so Jora couldn’t simply walk past them into the room. She had to take them out first.
Jora beckoned Po Teng. “Standing guard in front of Adriel’s door are two men,” she whispered. “Can you kill them at the same time?”
Po Teng looked around the corner. With his new wind form, he wasn’t easy to see, and so he didn’t bother to try to hide himself. “Yes, I should be able to reach them both.”
“Great. Go do that now. Sonnis, on my signal, go unlock that door.” She peeked around the corner. When she saw the two men collapse to the floor, she nodded to Sonnis and followed him, beckoning to Cyprianus and the two other allies to come with her. “Let’s drag them inside.”
Zivenna picked up the arms of both men. Once Jora opened the door, she dragged the two corpses inside. Their heads thumped against the door frame.
The ally released the bodies, and Cyprianus shut the door behind them, plunging the room into pitch darkness. Using the Mindstream, Jora saw Adriel lying on the bed, her wrists chained to a board nailed to the wall above her head. The room was otherwise unfurnished and had no window or other door.
“Who’s there?” Adriel asked, stirring.
“Adriel, it’s me, Jora.”
“And a friend,” Cyprianus added.
“You’re... you’re alive?” Adriel asked as she sat up. Her chains clanked in the darkness.
“Alive and well.” She went to her friend and took her into an embrace. “I’m here. It’s all right now.”
“God’s Challenger. I saw you executed. You and Gerad both. Beheaded right in front of me.”
“The grand duke executed beggars disguised as me and Gerad to coerce you into cooperating. He did the same to me, and probably to Gerad too. Are you hurt?”
Adriel muttered a rare curse. “No, I’m fine.”
Jora instructed Sonnis to unlock Adriel’s wrist cuffs. They came free and fell onto the bed with a rattle.
“So King Gerad’s alive too? You’ve seen him?”
“Not yet, but Emelia can lead us to him.”
“I cannot,” Emelia said flatly.
“What? Why not?”
“He is wearing a barring cuff like everyone else in the capitol. I cannot differentiate his from that of another, and he is wearing no kendern or kastdern.”
“Maybe I can find him,” Adriel said. “Can you get these things off me?” She tugged on the metal band around her neck. It was attached with wire to a kendern atop her head.
Zivenna snapped the wires with her claws while Jora loosened the screws. The kendern came off easily, but the kastdern required a key. “Sonnis, come here. One more lock.”
When Jora removed the kastdern, Adriel took a deep, gasping breath. “Oh, my. What a relief. Thank you.” She immediately created a light ball, illuminating the room. Adriel seemed to notice Cyprianus for the first timed. “Who are you?”
Jora introduced them, and Cyprianus bowed and placed a kiss on the back of Adriel’s hand, prompting a girlish giggle. The man was handsome, yes, perhaps one of the most gorgeous men Jora had ever met, but he was old. Really old. Without the Water of Eternal Springs, he would wrinkle up like one of Po Teng’s victims. Cyprianus smiled back at her, holding onto her hand as if he were equally smitten.
Jora cleared her throat. It was neither the time nor place to play at romance. “All right. Let’s see if we can Observe Gerad.” She closed her eyes and opened the Mindstream, but her attention was drawn to something on her shoe. She kicked her foot a bit, but the sensation moved up her skirt. Looking down, she saw a rodent, gray with eerie yellow eyes and long front teeth climbing up the fabric of her skirt.
She flinched and then slapped at the thing to dislodge it. “Ugh!”
“Gatekeeper,” its little voice said. “I am Trounce. No hurt me.”
Trounce? “How did you get summoned?” She offered her cupped hand, and he crawled onto it.
“You summon me. In big room.” His voice was squeaky like how she imagined a mouse’s would be.
She thought back to the hearing room where she and Adriel had been captured. Ibsa had unsummoned all her allies. “How did you not get dismissed?”
“Scribe woman not see me. I sneak under door and run away.”
Jora laughed. “You’ve been hiding all this time?”
“I scout. I find man you seek. I come tell you.”
“Gerad? You found Gerad?”
Trounce nodded his head.
Adriel clapped her hands. “That’s marvelous.”
“What took you so long?” Jora asked. “I sat in that rotten jail cell for days.”
The mouse’s whiskers twitched. “Capitol is big place. Very enormous. I get lost plenty times.”
Jora smiled and used her thumb to stroke the fur near his left shoulder. “I knew you would be useful.” She set the mouse on her shoulder. “Tell me which way to go. Emelia, any traps we need to worry about?” Part of her wanted to attract attention to pull the rest of the Mangendans out of their hiding places and slay them, but part of her wanted to rescue King Gerad, grab the godheart, and get out.
Emelia opened the door and listened intently. “No traps,” she said, “but there is something else. Something... remarkable.”
“Can it wait?” Jora patted the ally’s shoulder, immediately noticing the clamminess of her splotchy, gray skin. Curling her lip in disgust, she drew her hand back and wiped it on her dress.
“Yes, Gatekeeper. It can wait.”
“Good. Then let’s go rescue King Gerad.”
Chapter 23
Gerad and Tosh leapt to their feet. They watched the door, waiting to find out whether the strange, gurgling sound coming from outside the room meant Jora’s arrival. Neither said a word. Neither dared to breathe.
The door swung open, and Jora stood in the doorway, her eyes glittering gold. To one side of her lay a pair of guards, their heads tilted at an awkward angle and their tongues and eyes bulging. “My king, are you all right?”
“Jora,” Gerad said. “It’s sure good to see you.” Adriel entered behind her, smiling. He stepped past Tosh and started toward them when a terrible thought stopped him. What if these were imposters, and the real Jora and Adriel had truly been executed? “First, tell me one thing an imposter wouldn’t know,” he said.
“It’s me, Gerad,” Jora said. “It’s us.”
“Humor me. I’ve seen you both beheaded. Who was with you when we first met?”
“Tylia the Colossa.”
Gerad looked at Adriel. “Who protected us when the cannonballs were flying?”
“That was Adelphus,” Adriel said.
He opened his arms and embraced them both. “What a relief you’re both alive.”
“And you,” Jora said, pulling back.
“We both saw you beheaded as well,” Adriel said. “It wrecked me. I didn’t think I could go on after that.”
“It was all a ruse to break and manipulate you,” Tosh said. “Here. I found this in the vault and thought you might need it.” He offered Jora her flute. “I’d have brought it to you in the cell, but they searched me before they let me in. I couldn’t get it past the guards.”
Jora’s eyes widened like a child’s at the Mid-Winter Festival of Lanterns. “You found it. Oh, thank you so much.” She took it from him and gave him a hug. “You’re the best.”
“See? I’ve got your back, sis.” When Tosh smiled down at her, Gerad could plainly see the love and pride in his eyes.
“It’s all right,” Jora said over her shoulder. “You can come in now.”
A thin man in a dirty dress entered the room. He was barefoot, unwashed, and unshaven, and his greasy blond hair hung in matted strands like a string mop that someone had hacked with a knife. Whoever he was, he’d been a prisoner for a long time. Gerad stepped forward and extended a hand. “Gerad Druba.”
The newcomer took it and bowed as deeply as his frail body could manage. “Cyprianus Prothesilus at your service. It’s an honor to meet you, Your Majesty.”
“Cyprianus?” Gerad asked, his eyes wide. “What parents would name their child after the most notorious man in history?”
“Parents who couldn’t have known what their son would become,” the blond replied. “It’s a story better told when we’re safely away from here.”
“No,” Gerad said, shaking his head. Impossible. The man looked no older than twenty-five. “Not the Cyprianus. That’s not possible.”
“It is, I’m afraid,” Cyprianus said. “I’ve been in the dungeon for a very long time.”
“Five hundred years?” Gerad asked, his disbelief plain in his tone.
“Trust me,” Jora said with a wink. “He’s no danger to us now.”
“Unless you consider my stench a weapon,” Cyprianus said with a wry grin. “Perhaps these guards wouldn’t mind if I borrowed their clothing.”
Gerad shook his head as he stared at the frail, unkempt man. This was some elaborate hoax, nothing more, and it irritated him that this man, whoever he was, had managed to convince Jora of it. Once they were safely home, Gerad would get to the bottom of it.
“Take their boots too,” Jora said. “Zivenna, help him undress whichever guard best matches his height and frame.”
“We’d better get moving,” Tosh said. “As soon as the grand duke finds out his prized prisoners have escaped, he’ll have every soldier in the city searching for us.”
“Your allies are powerful,” Gerad said, “but we could use some extra help.” He held up the whistle. “Care to help me summon them?”
“Oh, you got it,” Adriel said. “Excellent.”
“Thanks for getting the whistle to him,” Jora said to Tosh. “Stand back. I’m going to open the way right here.” Once everyone had taken a step or two away from her, she whistled a bizarre tune. A black, shapeless cloud formed in the air in the back right corner of the room. “Go ahead, King Gerad.”
Archesilaus, Gerad thought, then blew the whistle.
Nothing happened.
Gerad thought he’d done it wrong and went over the instructions in his mind again.
“Retar, why didn’t it work?” Jora asked.
Zivenna, who’d been pulling the black shirt off one of the guards’ corpses, straightened. Her eyes took on a brilliant gleam. “Hello Jora, Gerad, Adriel, Tosh. I’m glad to see the siblings have finally reunited. It was a difficult secret for me to keep.”
Cyprianus gasped and gaped at the ally. “The god himself inhabits this creature?”
Retar smiled at him and bowed. “Retar, at your service. I’ve been watching you for a while now. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
