Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Harper
A nother elf comes and takes me by the arm. “Come.”
How long have I slept, hours or days? I have no idea. I’m stiff and sore from lying on the hard stones and the torture.
“Where are you taking me?” Maybe I can talk him into going elsewhere.
“She calls for you.” His voice is strong but not aggressive.
I stumble at the cell door, and he grips me tighter to keep me upright. His attempt to save me from a fall is as painful as the fall might have been. I grunt and suck air in through my teeth.
He stops, gentles his grip, and bows his head. “I apologize. I only meant to keep you from injuring yourself.”
Once the sharpest of the pain subsides, I attempt a smile. “I know. I’m alright. What is your name?”
“I am Beran.” His commanding voice makes me think he was a soldier before being enslaved. He whispers, “Are you one of the humans who is prophesied?
I shrug. “That’s what they tell me, but I hardly think I can save anyone. I’m surprised you know about me. I mean, being here, like this.”
Once again taking my arm, he leads me down a long corridor. “She’s afraid of you. She laments your existence to that traitorous pig, Ciaran.”
“I’m sorry I failed you. I came to this world to help, but I wasn’t good enough.” Pain and guilt and hopelessness well up inside me, and I hate that I can’t manage them any more than I can control my situation.
“Stay alive, human.” He pulls his lips into a line, and his jaw tightens.
It seems to me a sign that he’s done talking, which is pretty annoying since he’s probably the last person with whom I’ll ever have a conversation. Pulling my arm free, I lift my chin and walk on my own. Every step is agony, but I refuse to let him or anyone else see how dangerously close I am to a complete meltdown. This Jersey Girl will not be terrorized by anyone or anything. They may kill me, but they won’t break me.
In the hall where I was abused and where I’ll likely die, pillars rise fifty feet to the ceiling, are large enough to hide two men, and I wonder what evil lurks behind them. Though they are stained sooty black like the rest of the hall, a hint of gold shines through at the top of each beveled ridge. The broken and rough floor, which I thought was gray stone, has a pattern beneath the grime, like marble. “I guess she spoils everything she touches.”
Beran takes my arm again and draws me to the center of the hall. With a gentle squeeze, he releases me to continue toward the dais alone, then backs away until I no longer hear his footsteps.
Terrible and familiar, the witch queen steps in front of the throne, dressed in black leggings and a tunic. On the belt at her hip hangs a dagger with a golden stone on the hilt. As if for some effect, she’s wearing a black cape that nearly reaches the ground. It seems completely impractical, but what do I know of elf witches?
She takes out her dagger and buries the tip deep in the arm of the throne. “Your world is puzzling to me.”
Twenty feet from the dais, I stop. She plans to kill me or make me a shadow demon. I’m not giving this aberration any information. Who knows what she’ll do if she can reach Earth. Not that I know anything about magic. Until a few weeks ago, I thought magic wasn’t real.
“My spies tell me humans wield no magic. Why don’t you use the magic available to you?” She narrows her gaze.
Something pokes my back and shoves me forward, bruising just under my right shoulder blade. I stumble, but keep on my feet.
Ciaran, also dressed in black, but minus the cape, circles me. A sword hangs from his belt, and his cuffs are adorned with red lace. Like some demonic drum major, he twirls a pale wooden rod painted with black markings. He strikes behind my legs, forcing my knees to smack the hard ground.
I cry out, but bite my lip, stilling any other sounds.
“Answer, or I will beat you with this until you beg for the chance to speak.” He smacks the back of my head with the rod.
Grabbing the already swelling lump, I say, “I don’t know the answer. We know nothing of magic. Maybe we’ve forgotten over the years.”
“Useless,” Venora says. “You are of no value, human.” She spreads her fingers and thrusts her arms forward.
Jagged black bolts streak toward me from her fingertips, and when they strike, pain rips through my center, burning cold, and I pray for death to end the unbearable pain. It rises from my gut up to my chest, neck, and head. My screams fill the hall in a never-ending cry. I can’t stop myself, nor can I move any muscle. Hovering above the floor, racked with agony, I force my mind to detach.
Aaran is coming for me. His mother’s words come back, telling me that I have to survive. If Venora breaks my mind, I’m done for. I can’t let her inside me.
“She thinks someone will rescue her,” Ciaran singsongs, as if he’s amused. “Stupid little human. So helpless. Once my queen finds the key to your world’s magic, we shall spend less than a day conquering your people and making them all slaves.”
A shadow demon swoops past my face.
How had Ciaran known I was thinking about rescue?
He taps his temple. Smooth skin, long silken hair, and blue eyes, he could be from a fairy tale. Of course, some of those are pretty dark. Maybe there’s more truth in them than I ever considered.
I have to keep him out of my mind. All I have to do is what Elspeth said. Stay alive —and the song from that old seventies movie that my mom loves filters through like a crazy earworm. I repeat the lyrics over and over in my mind and float in a haze where my body and mind are disconnected.
“The shadow demon felt the magic in her world; so did the wolves. They drew from it, even though it was altered. I just need to open the human up and find her magic. Killing her now gets me no closer to using her magic to take her world.” Venora’s voice grates on the inside of my skull. The lightning she shoots comes faster and stronger.
The agony persists. My screams ring in my head. Still, I’m alive. I only need to survive long enough for someone to come for me and hope this witch queen can be distracted long enough for me to get away. It’s too much to hope for, so I just keep singing that song in my head, not all of it, just the chorus, in time to the catchy beat.
Ciaran holds the side of his head. “What is that?”
Pointing her finger at me, Venora says, “It’s her. She thinks a little mind game will keep me from flaying her open and gathering her essence. She’s foolish enough to believe she can stop me.”
There’s denial and concern in her voice. Maybe I’m wrong, but it seems to me that my repeatedly singing the same few bars is effectively bothering Ciaran. For that alone, it’s worth it.
Hope spreads from the center of my chest. It’s only the three of us in the throne room now. I worry that those the witch has imprisoned might be hurt when Aaran comes for me. At the edge of my mind, I feel him getting closer. Still, I sing on. I can’t allow Venora or Ciaran to read more of my thoughts about rescue. Just the words to the old song. I’ll give them nothing else.
When Ciaran grabs my shoulders and lifts me from the ground, there’s no beauty in him. The vile person inside his pleasing exterior shines through. His skin, which sags with age, is marked and pocked. His bright eyes are black, dull, dim and wanting. His shoulders slump with the weight of keeping Venora happy. She’s a demanding master, and he has suffered for his betrayal. Not the least sorry for him, I filter his true reflection back to him.
His eyes widen, and he cries loud enough for the rough sound to bounce off the walls. He lets me go, and I plummet to my ass.
As he staggers backward, Venora stops her torture and runs to him.
Keeping the image of his true likeness in my mind, I pray that he sees nothing else.
“What is it?”
He screams and covers his eyes as his back comes up against a pillar. Even the gold thread on his shirt dims in my sight. The skin of his throat sags, and his veins show black through papery flesh. His hands are gnarled with swollen knuckles.
As Venora pushes his hair back from his face, instead of silken white strands, I see gray, stringy and matted.
His true visage is so clear in my head that I send it to him again and again. This is what he gets for invading my thoughts.
“Make her stop, my queen. She’s killing me.” He clutches his face and hair, looking for proof that what I’m showing him is a lie.
Only it’s not a lie. It’s what I see. Maybe it’s what he knows lurks inside himself. Ugly is as ugly does, my grandmother used to say.
“Stop her!” With a shaking hand, he points one long black fingernail at me.
Venora turns. Her black cape billowing behind her, she stalks toward me. “Stop this, you miserable animal.”
Leaning on my hands, I stare at them both. “I’m not doing anything but showing him the truth. There’s no getting away from what’s inside your rotting body. Show what you want to the world, but I see you.” I have no idea where this new strength has come from, but I’m just so angry. I can’t stop using the one weapon I have to defend myself against their magic.
“Stop!” Venora charges forward, putting herself between me and Ciaran.
I pray the image he sees degrades further and shows him the unmarked grave where his fetid body will lie when his master abandons him for someone new.
“No!” His wails echo through the room, hurting my ears.
As Venora draws closer, I try to back away like a crab, but my arms give out. Even if my mind remains strong, my muscles scream with agony.
She slaps my face, then screams in pain and holds her hand tight to her chest.
Warm blood runs down my cheek. My focus slips for a moment, but I gather myself and show him the beautiful new elven man of perhaps twenty, who sits beside Venora on her black throne. “You mean nothing to her. Once she’s used you up, she’ll discard you like she has so many before.” I’m making a guess, but it hits home, and his eyes dart toward her.
“She lies.” Venora reaches for me with both hands as if she might strangle me.
The moment she grips my throat, she pulls her smoking fingers back and screams. Her flesh bubbles, and the burn spreads.
Stunned, I falter, releasing my attack on Ciaran. Had I burned her? Is that why she can’t touch me?
He straightens, and despite what I’ve shown him, he runs to her aid.
A thunderous cracking of wood and stone overshadows her agonized shrieking.
The castle is collapsing. I’m prepared to be buried alive. It can’t be worse than what I’ve already suffered. Instead of falling stone and eternal darkness, daylight shines through, blinding me to the room as Aaran’s face flashes in my mind. Courage wells up inside me. I stagger to my feet and launch myself at Venora with my hands outstretched toward her face.
My index finger makes contact with her left cheek and leaves a nasty burn just as Ciaran bats me away.
I crash to the ground and slide until my shoulder hits a pillar.
Dust and rubble fly in every direction. Booted feet on the marble floor and battle cries hurt my ears. Total chaos surrounds me, but someone lifts me from the floor and carries me out of the way. Aaran, Nainsi, Jax, and several others raise their swords to attack Ciaran, who also lifts his weapon.
A short stocky man screams, “I get the witch!”
The hall fills with shadow demons, all screeching like banshees as they surround Venora and Ciaran before my rescuers reach her. Gray shadows lift them and crash through one of the windows to carry them away.
The silence that follows is bliss.
Bert’s concerned face comes into focus. “I’ve got you, Harper.” Even though his voice is calm, he’s on his guard.
“I burned her.” I stare at my fingers. My blood, and maybe hers, mark my skin. The pain of a hundred cuts and bruises lances through me as the threat subsides. The room spins, Bert’s face blurs, and everything goes black.
Aaran
I drop my sword and rush to the side wall where Bert is holding an unconscious Harper. Her dress is in tatters. Blood, dried and fresh, covers her, but still she breathes. My heart is pounding so hard I can’t catch my breath.
Charging into the great hall, I focused on battle. Now, it’s hard to hold my composure in the face of what Harper must have suffered. I cup her face where blood still drips from three long cuts along her cheek. “Harper?” My instinct is to shake her awake. I need to know she’s alive and that her mind is still sound. “I should never have made you come here.”
While Bert holds her as if she were his child, he shakes his head. “She came because she wanted to. It was her choice. It was the right thing to do, and our Harper is a person who always does right. Don’t diminish her choice by taking it away from her.”
He’s right, but I want her well, whole. Whatever she suffered in the hours it took us to arrive, I cannot imagine. Is my Harper still inside her?
Nainsi puts her hand on my shoulder. “Let’s get her out of this tainted place. She needs healing.”
Again, someone else is more rational than me. Again, my emotions have clouded my judgment. I slip my arm under her knees and around her back.
“Be gentle with her. She’s beaten up, and even passed out, probably hurts.” Bert stands as I lift Harper from his embrace.
Turning, I’m stunned to see dozens of elves walking out doors and the shadows of pillars. Wearing rags, they’re emaciated and approach with heads bowed.
For an instant, I pull Harper closer to protect her, but these elves are not a danger.
Jax speaks to one of them, then approaches me. “They were taken from the northern city of Fioseil and kept as slaves. Their magic is bound. That’s how she kept them.”
I nod, but my priority is getting Harper out of this oppressive castle’s dark magic. Still, the shuffle of many feet following behind me adds the weight of each one’s safety heavy on my shoulders.
“The witch won’t stay away,” Fancor says. “She only ran because she was injured. I’m guessing your woman did the wounding. This human must be stronger than she looks.” He strides ahead toward an area just outside the wall, where tattered tents circle a stone well.
More elves, some sickly, step out of their makeshift homes.
There are so many. How will I get them all to safety and get Harper to Tús Nua under my mother’s protection? “Jax, can you and your soldiers see what these people need and how bad their condition is?”
Fancor drops the bucket and hauls up water. He tastes it. “Not bad. Not poisoned.” He carries the bucket to the partially crumbling wall I’m sitting on with Harper in my lap.
Bert leans my sword against the wall beside me.
Nainsi kneels, and without touching Harper, she runs her hands from head to toe. “It was her magic Venora was after. She vibrates with defenses I don’t understand, as if something surrounded the part of her under attack.”
A female elf with haunted eyes drops to her knees and places her hands on top of Nainsi’s. Together, they press their palms to Harper’s abdomen. Magic glows around them and through Harper.
It vibrates along my spine as healing flows through this woman I pledged to keep safe. I failed. She might have been killed, and she’ll never again be the sweet unsullied person I found getting her driver’s license. Her injuries may be healed, but everything leaves a scar. The blame lies with me.
Blinking her eyes open, Harper draws a deep breath. She stares at me. “You came.”
Fancor kneels beside her and holds a cup of water. “Drink, girl.”
With a long look at Fancor, she tries to sit, but winces. “Have we met?”
“Drink.” He puts the cup to her lips.
Glancing at me, she waits for my nod before complying. “Thank you.”
“I am Fancor, son of Fan of the Great Mountains. I came to give aid in battle in the name of my father.” He makes an awkward bow.
“The water was good.” Closing her eyes, Harper lays her hand over the two at her stomach. “I hope this doesn’t mean I’m dying and you’re easing my pain. If I’m going to die, I want to know.”
Nainsi grins. “You’re not dying.”
The sober elf who helped with the healing stands and backs away with her head lowered.
“Thank you, Cara.” Harper keeps her eyes closed. “Did Venora leave? Are they gone?”
We are still in danger. Perhaps a hundred elves are looking to me for guidance. “She ran, but she’ll be back when she’s healed. We need to get out of here.”
Getting to her feet, Harper stumbles and leans on Fancor for support. “You’re very sturdy.”
“I am, indeed. It would be my honor to be your crutch, or I’ll carry you if you’d prefer.” He grips her elbow and scans her, as if determining the best way to be of service. “I’m as strong as any elf or the man from your world.”
“Have you been to my world?”
He huffs. “No.”
Her laugh is short but sends a shred of hope to my heart. “Still, you’re probably right, Mr. Fancor.” Staring into my eyes, she raises her eyebrows. “Now what?”
Wrapping my arms around her, I lift her, and she puts her arms around my neck. “Now we get you out of here.” I stride toward the outer gates. They used to gleam silver and gold, but now are black, as if a fungus has grown on them.
Swords drawn, the soldiers who came with me surround us.
Harper whispers, “Aaran, what about these people? Will you leave them here to be slaves to that monster?” Resting her head on my shoulder, she gazes back at the ragged group staring after us.
Part of me knows I should leave them or come back for them, but I can’t do that. These are my people just as much as those inside the new city. Taking a hundred undernourished and ill elves so far will add time to our journey. “No. We won’t leave them, Harper.”
Nainsi smiles and points up the mountain. “If we can get over that ridge, I think we can draw enough magic to mask ourselves.”
I nod despite the difficult logistics of moving a group this large. A portal would damage the sick and injured. Harper isn’t strong enough. Even for me, a fourth portal this soon would be dangerous. We’ll have to walk, and it’s a long way, with an ocean between here and home. Putting Harper on her feet, I wait until she’s stable.
Fancor rushes over to catch her if she should waver. I’ve never spent much time with dwarves. My people have made a habit of avoiding the Great Mountains and their inhabitants. For the first time, I question the wisdom of that.
Facing those who were slaves to the witch queen, I take a deep breath and hope this is the right thing. Two men stand with the healer at the front as I approach. “Do you think with help your people can make it over that ridge?”
Relief flickers in the taller man’s blue eyes. He holds out his hand. “I am Dorian. We have enough who still have the strength to carry those who have none. If it means the possibility of freedom, we will make the journey.”
“You can come with us to Tús Nua. It’s possible my mother can break the bind on your magic. If not, at least you’ll be out from under the witch queen.” Mist is burning off the hills, and the barren land stretches farther than I can see. “It will take many days.”
Dorian nods and lifts a man who’s little more than skin and bones. Beran does the same with a woman, as do other elves who still have their strength. The soldiers keep their swords drawn and lead the way as Nainsi, Bert, Fancor, and Jax each help with the weak or ill.
We leave the old city with over a hundred elves, two humans, and a dwarf.
Harper hugs my neck. “I should walk so you can carry one of them.”
Gripping her tighter, I say. “No. You’re healing, but not healed.”
“Who are they?” She points to the soldiers flanking us.
Elves have very good hearing, and the ginger elf smiles. “I’m Brekin. I’ve come with Avon, Glen, and Lare to help protect you on your journey west.”
She thanks him and the others. “Are we very far from the new capital?”
Avon is very tall, even for an elf. He is the oldest and keeps his long blond hair braided. “We have a long journey, my lady. You were taken across the Beò Ocean. It will take some time to bring you to safety.”
She laughs. “Is there such a place here?”
Avon frowns but doesn’t confirm her assumption.
There are no safe places in Domhan any longer. That’s why Harper is here. I hold her tighter and shield my mind so she doesn’t hear my worries.
Once the city is in the distance, Harper talks about what was done to her, but not about the pain of it. She speaks of my mother coming to her in a vision and Cara rubbing salve on her wounds and using magic to ease her pain. She gets tears in her eyes when she tells us how Dorian gave up his cloak so she wouldn’t have to lie on the cold stone dungeon floor.
I’m amazed at how while Venora tried to rip her magic free, she kept herself sane by singing a human song. This woman is special far beyond my feelings for her. Most of those, I must keep to myself, but perhaps one day I’ll be able to tell her. Stuffing that away, I ask, “She wanted your magic?”
“She doesn’t know how the magic in my world works.” Harper stares back at the parade of elves in rags following us. “Not that I do. I never knew I had magic before I met you. I could sometimes sense things about people, but never more than that, and most of the time I found it uncomfortable to know what fate or fortune lay in store for someone.”
Fancor adjusts the woman clinging to his back. “Dwarves rarely use magic for more than healing and the portals, but the old texts say we did many cycles ago, before the dragons came to Domhan. Maybe your people are more like us.”
“Maybe.” She smiles. “Maybe we just forgot, and perhaps it’s for the best. Many humans are better off without the ability to shoot lightning from their hands.” She wiggles her fingers.
I think she meant it to be lighthearted, but Fancor winces. He must have some idea of the pain black lightning causes. Harper should not have survived. The fact that she did is a blessing, but when the witch queen recovers, she’ll be even more rabid to find the answers behind the riddle of human magic.