The Ale Boy's Feast

  In that resonant music, for a moment, Cal-raven could almost imagine a future.

  28

  BREAKING THREADS

  uralia fingered the stone on her cell’s back wall, looking for lodes of color. Ignoring the taunts of the two prisoners caged across from her, she softened blue stone into clay and drew a winding river.

  “Your old friend’s been gone a long time with that token you gave him,” sneered Joneroi. “Wonder what he’ll sell it for.”

  She tried to ignore him. Krawg was a thief, yes. But he also loved her. He would take risks for her.

  With her fingertips she whisked green along the blue river’s edge, leaning in and considering each detail. Trying to remember.

  If I can get back there, to the beginning. If I can smell the grass and remember the view of the sky. Maybe I’ll find it again. The lightness. The desire to play.

  But the river seemed too ideal. It flowed the way she wanted it to, not on its own. And the grass was too perfect; not ragged and webbed and rooted among worms and beetle swarms, like she remembered.

  She smeared a violent rift through the river. “I can’t do this anymore.”

  Just then she realized that her tormentors had chosen a new target for their insults. She turned to see Emeriene’s sons. They had chased each other down into the corridor, throwing stones and laughing, but stopped when they realized they’d drawn the attention of their caged kinsmen.

  “Boys,” rasped Joneroi, “if you were men, you’d go out there and lift the keys from King Cal-raven. But you’re not men, are you? You’re the spawn of a traitor.”

  “Why’d the guard let them down here?” That was Gaithey, sulking in the corner of his cell. “He should lock them up. Just in case they’ve got any of their father in ’em.”

  The boys quickly changed their game, pelting Joneroi and Gaithey with stones. When Auralia told them to stop, they turned against her.

  “You’re a thief,” the boys cried. “You can’t steal from our queen.”

  Auralia blocked one stone with her forearm. She missed the next one, and it struck her chin. The boys went back to throwing at the men, spewing curses and threats. “Crooks! Traitors! Seers’ pets!” This time she kept silent.

  As the men cowered in their corners, battered and bloody, Cesyr and Channy grew more vicious. Stones rang loudly off Auralia’s bars.

  Then the boys stumbled, crying out.

  Auralia looked through the fingers of her upraised hands and watched the floor begin to ripple. She ran to the bars and saw Luci and Margi kneeling at the end of the corridor.

  “Girls, let them go,” she laughed.

  The sisters brushed off their hands. The boys, frightened, ran off, their shoes clattering with clods of hardening clay. They disappeared deeper into the next chamber, whimpering with hurt pride.

  Margi and Luci gripped the bars of Auralia’s cell. “Looks like you’re hurt.”

  “Bruises,” she said. “And a cut.” She dabbed blood from her chin with her sleeve. “Go and fetch Say-ressa. Those two are hurt worse than me.”

  “What’s all the noise here?” Jes-hawk appeared in the corridor. In one hand he held his arrowcaster. In the arm that emerged from the sling, he cradled Cal-raven’s trumpet. “Prisoners stoning prisoners?”

  “Emeriene’s boys,” said Margi. “They did it.”

  “The boys? Cesyr and Channy are here?”

  The girls pointed down the corridor. “Troublemakers,” said Luci.

  “They’ve lost their heroes,” said Auralia. “They know Ryllion and their father were full of lies, and they’re humiliated and angry. They’ll grow out of it. If we’re good to them.”

  Jes-hawk frowned at the rocks littering the floor. “Boys!” He waited, but there was no answer. “Channy. Cesyr.” He set the trumpet on the floor and marched farther into the dark. “You’re wasting my time. I’m supposed to be up on the wall.”

  Then came a curse and a commotion. “I think,” came Jes-hawk’s voice, “the boys may … have found … a way out …” His voiced sounded strained, and it echoed.

  “Good thing this dungeon’s so secure,” laughed Gaithey, blotting a cut.

  “The king has to let you go, Milora,” Margi said, impatient. “We’ve gotta show you something.”

  “The statue’s almost finished,” Luci whispered.

  A cry like a bird’s distressed chirp cut the air. Then a sound like someone pounding on drums.

  “Jes-hawk?” Auralia called.

  Margi and Luci hurried down the corridor into the next room. A moment later Margi shouted back, “There’s a vent here. In the wall. He’s gone through!”

  “It goes up,” Luci called. “I feel wind.”

  “That’d be from outside the wall,” said Gaithey. “Outside the city.”

  “Probably a vent to air out the stench of whatever died here,” muttered Joneroi.

  “How big is it?” asked Auralia.

  “The boys could have fit through,” said Margi.

  “But not Jes-hawk?”

  The girls did not answer.

  “If he didn’t go through,” growled Joneroi, “where is he?”

  “Nowhere,” said Margi. “There’s nowhere else.”

  Luci scoffed. “That’s impossible. It’s too …” She paused, then screamed.

  “Blood!” Margi shouted. “Spilling out!”

  “Run!” shouted Auralia.

  The girls scampered back into the corridor, terror in their eyes.

  “Shut the door!” whimpered Gaithey.

  “There is no door,” said Joneroi, sounding frightened and nervous.

  “Girls,” said Auralia. “Up.”

  Luci and Margi ran to her, climbed up the cell bars, and perched on the top like frightened birds.

  A ten-legged viscorclaw—a full-grown, serpentine branch from a coil tee—came stalking low to the ground like a feline. Its black legs were dripping, but it had no head, no mouth. They seize and shred, thought Auralia. Poor Jes-hawk.

  When it reached Auralia’s cell, it paused, turned.

  “Now!” shouted Luci.

  The sisters leapt down, landing on either side of the crawler. They pressed their hands to the floor in the same moment as Auralia and, with a unified shout, sent a rush of stonemastery into it.

  The crawler tensed to spring but, as the floor softened, found it could not launch. It fought, legs dragging up strands of molten stone. Then it tipped and sank.

  The girls jerked back their fingers and stepped away.

  The crawler’s legs suddenly reappeared, thrashing. But its spine remained trapped as the clay became stone.

  “Go,” said Auralia softly. “Call the guards. There may be more.”

  “But—”

  “Go. They need a warning. I’ll do my best to stop the next one.”

  Joneroi and Gaithey remained crumpled in the backs of their cells, mumbling prayers and counting all the things they’d done right to earn a rescue.

  Auralia watched the crawler’s extended fingertips. They jerked and twitched, then slowly weakened. She began to breathe deeply again but only to ready herself for the next stage of the growing trouble.

  Standing at the base of the tower where Cal-raven had ordered his secret guest to stay hidden, Jordam looked past the tower to the stars, yellow and orange through the smoke-hazy sky.

  Awestruck, he forgot his errand—to give Ryllion a portion of the feast. He forgot himself. Stars had rarely been visible in Cent Regus territory. He had first noticed them on the shore of Auralia’s lake. But here in the northern highlands, they seemed closer somehow.

  I’ve done what I came to do.

  He felt lighter, almost giddy. Cal-raven’s forgiveness—and more, the king’s own apology—had affected him deeply. He felt as if a fever had broken, cool sweat tingling on his newly hairless brow and neck. The night was alive with possibility.

  Ryllion should know this feeling.

  He stepped into the tower
and ascended the stairs. Cal-raven had asked him to guard the Essence-poisoned soldier in the canyon after the dragon’s rampage. It had been a tense, difficult meeting. Ryllion, who had been following the company and hiding in the rocks, showed no signs of making trouble; he seemed humbled, even embarrassed, to stand before Jordam.

  “Ryllion’s trying to change his life,” the king had said. “As Cyndere helped you change yours, help me protect him. If they find out who he is, Bel Amicans will kill him. I want him to live.”

  The tower was silent as Jordam ascended, and he worried that Ryllion had run. But there he was, leaning feebly on the sill of the high chamber window, draped in his heavy robe.

  “rrBrought you food.” He offered Ryllion a plate wrapped in a ragged cloth. Ryllion took it with trembling hands and unfolded the cloth to find bread, strips of meat, and a cup with a small measure of the secret water.

  Ryllion thanked him. “I’ve known no stranger moment than this. To be fed and protected by a … a man of House Cent Regus. One that Cyndere herself befriended. You are Deuneroi’s dream come true, Jordam.”

  “I know,” said Jordam. Then he paused. “rrTrue? You there … under Abascar? You …”

  “I killed Deuneroi,” said Ryllion. “I was afraid. And I wanted strength.”

  Jordam nodded, silent.

  Ryllion set the plate down. “Are you allowed to take me outside? I want to see the stars.”

  “rrYes,” said Jordam. “Stars are very good.”

  They made their way out of the tower and up a long stair to an unguarded stretch of wall. They stargazed in silence for a while, until Ryllion turned and leaned against the parapet and looked up at the moon.

  “For many years I believed the moon was the source of all good things. But Myrton told me he’s studied it. It’s just dust. A ball of dust. The sun is shining somewhere, and the dust catches the light and casts it down to us. A reminder. Some hope in the dark.”

  Jordam stared at the moon, amazed. Such an idea had never occurred to him before. It’s like … O-raya’s boy. Bringing help into the dark.

  Ryllion looked down into the dark gully beyond the wall. “I laughed at him. Thought I knew everything. I said, ‘It’s more than dust.’ But he agreed. He said, ‘Oh, yes, dust is just what it’s made of. But it has a purpose. Like everything. It’s all some vast conspiracy to keep us from pride. And despair.’ And then he moved off through his greenhouse. And I realized, the place was full of mirrors. Not mirrors like those the Seers made, to show us ourselves. But mirrors reflecting light, helping all those green things grow.”

  Jordam closed his eyes. There will be two moons at O-raya’s caves tonight. One in the sky. One on the water. His throat clenched, and his eyes filled with water. I must go there. Soon. To see if she’s come back.

  “When the Seers turned against me,” Ryllion went on, “I thought I’d start to hate the moon. But I don’t.” He gripped the wall as if worried he might fall. “You give me hope, Jordam. If you can find a new life, maybe I can too. What was it?”

  Jordam grunted, baffled by the question.

  “What … what brought you out of the Curse?” Before Jordam could answer, Ryllion held up his hand. “Emeriene mentioned that girl from the stories. Auralia.”

  “O-raya,” said Jordam, “made me know … I was thirsty.” He pressed his hand to his heart. “For … something I didn’t have. A good … strength. Then, Bel … Sin-der … she came. And she had good strength too. She shared it. And then … O-raya’s boy needed help. I could be strength. Strength for him.”

  Ryllion nodded. “Strength for him.”

  “Now.” Jordam shrugged. “He is gone. Needs help, somewhere. And Bel. She needs help. Help with the little one.”

  “The beastchild.”

  Jordam was surprised that Ryllion knew. “Yes. rrWant to help her grow. So small.”

  “That will be difficult.”

  Jordam nodded. “Like … climbing a mountain.”

  Moonlight gilded the rocks below. A disturbance, a small pattering of stones, drew Jordam’s attention, and he saw Ryllion tense.

  “Something’s down there,” Ryllion hissed.

  “rrCrawlers?” asked Jordam. “Feelers?”

  They listened.

  Ryllion pointed down at the gulley. Two small figures moved about on the rocks. Jordam was impressed. Ryllion’s eyes were as good or better than his own.

  “Emeriene’s boys?” Ryllion asked, incredulous.

  “rrHow?” Jordam rumbled. “Outside the walls? Did they fall?”

  A burst of fire. The boys had found a sparkstone and lit a branch, which crackled and spat.

  “Are they burning a viscorclaw?” asked Ryllion.

  “No,” said Jordam. “Those branches don’t move.”

  “Just playing then.” Ryllion leaned forward sharply. “But what’s that? Something’s moving. Toward them. Creeping up the gully.”

  And then Ryllion was gone, leaping over the parapet, clutching at faint ridges and ledges with his claws, scrabbling his way down.

  Jordam barked after him. Unarmed save for the torch, he ran along the wall until he was right above the boys.

  Ryllion dropped to the gully and sprang into the space between the boys and the advancing viscorclaw. He has no weapon, Jordam thought. He barked again, then tossed the torch out into the air. It fell, sparking, trailing a ribbon of flame. Ryllion caught it easily.

  Torchlit, the boys stared at Ryllion’s back as he lunged toward the advancing viscorclaw. Burnt, smoking, the crawler retreated.

  As it did, Ryllion cried out and fell. His robe was on fire. The boys were attacking him from behind, beating him with burning branches.

  “rrStop!” Jordam roared.

  Ryllion rolled across the rocks screaming. One of the boys pulled something from his pocket—a gleaming blade—and struck.

  “No!”

  Jordam vaulted over the edge and fell, dragging his nails along the wall. But he did not have the claws that had once helped him climb like a bearcat. He slowed his fall but still crashed into the rocks.

  He leapt to Ryllion and beat on him, trying to pound out the flames. Ryllion was groaning, the fight going out of him. Jordam’s hands were sticky with blood. “rrNo!”

  The boys lit new branches, readying to come for Jordam. “rrHow you get out?” he growled. His fearsome voice drove the children back.

  They pointed forward, directly into the shadows where the burnt viscorclaw was coming back.

  “You!” came a shout from the wall. Jordam looked up and saw two guards staring down, holding up torches. “What’s happening down there?”

  “rrCrawlers!” Jordam roared. “Tell the king!”

  The guards did not move, lifting torches higher as if that would help them see.

  “Don’t help them,” shouted one of the boys to the guards. “We don’t want them here. A beastman and a traitor!”

  Ryllion clutched at the embers of his chest, the source of the pulsing bloodstream. Jordam pulled out the knife. Ryllion wheezed suddenly, kicked against the rocks, and went still.

  The viscorclaw advanced.

  Jordam lifted a flaming branch that the boys had dropped and leapt at the predator. Moments later it was scuttling away, fire spreading up its spine until it crumbled. Now Jordam noticed the vent and saw signs in the dust that confirmed this as the boys’ way out. He stuck his head in the shaft and sniffed.

  A mess of carnage reeked in the passage. Something, or someone, had been ripped to pieces there.

  As the boys approached him slowly, wielding lit branches, an arrow struck the stones at his feet. He looked up. One of the guards was clumsily firing into the dark. Jordam shouted for the king, but the guard did not understand.

  So Jordam ran at the boys. Frightened, they dropped their torches. He raised his arm in anger, then paused.

  Stop, Jordam.

  He drew a deep breath. Stop. No killing.

  Restraining himself, he struck t
he older child down with a measured blow. Then he lifted that unconscious boy and stuffed him under his arm. The smaller child began to cry, and Jordam seized him by the back of his cloak. “Don’t fight,” he growled.

  Then he turned to the wall, puffing a sigh, and began the perilous climb. His cargo wailed and struggled while moonlit arrows streaked past him like stars across the sky over Deep Lake.

  An arrow pierced him just above his collarbone, and he lost his grip, slid, and caught himself. Wheezing and snarling, terrifying the boy, he climbed further until he heard one of the guards say, “That’s Jordam. He’s got Cesyr and Channy. Stop shooting!”

  A few moments later Jordam was sitting down on the wall, leaning back, pressing his hand against his wound to try to stop the bleeding. One of the boys raged, telling the guards to kill Jordam, while the other still lay unconscious.

  One of the guards ran off, and in hardly any time at all, Emeriene was there, shrieking and running to gather her children into her arms. She looked at Jordam with fury.

  “Ryllion’s dead,” Jordam said flatly.

  “Ryllion?” asked Kar-balter. “Who’s Ryllion?”

  “Where?” Emeriene demanded. “Where is he?”

  “rrCal-raven … tried to help him. Told me to guard him.”

  Emeriene’s eyes widened in amazement. “The stranger in the tower?”

  Jordam gestured to the boys and explained how they had climbed out into the wild. He described how Ryllion had jumped down to save them. Emeriene’s expression was a fit of bewilderment.

  “rrRescued them,” he said. “Fought the crawlers.”

  “Viscorclaws?” exclaimed Kar-balter. “Where?”

  “The crawlers … they killed Ryllion?”

  Jordam could not speak. If he told Emeriene the truth, what would happen to the boys? But he knew the trouble that would come from lying about a death. He remained silent. And as the guards scanned the darkness and Emeriene comforted her boys, Jordam took advantage of their distraction and staggered away.

  He was thinking of that vent the boys had crawled through and the smell of blood. He would seal it, then go hunting for viscorclaws.