Chapter 10
10
ROOK
T he drip of distant water cuts through the numbing silence. The temperature is chilled at these earthen depths, utterly devoid of any touch from the sun. Puddles of tepid water are pooled in the crevices of the cave, silty with unknown minerals. Very few know of this ancient tunnel that drills deep into the earth like a scar in the land. Ages ago, a Wyrm crawled through the loam and rock, leaving burrow walls in its wake. This winding trail was deemed suitable enough to become a secret passageway sometime in the last century by unknown architects. The passageway is not marked on any map, and those who know of it are forbidden to speak of its existence.
A torch flickers to life. The blazing light catches on rusted iron bars embedded into the rock walls and sparkles on tapering mounds of stalagmite that rise from the floor. Teeth-like stalactites drip from the low ceiling like glimmering icicles. The torchbearer steps further into the cave and ducks his head, avoiding the warped ridges of the ceiling. He carries a bucket of rancid food with his free hand, a cloudy bottle of sour wine tucked under the other arm. The iron bars at the far side of the cave loom closer, but the shadows lurking beyond the cell wall remain stubbornly opaque.
The torchbearer is glad not to see the prisoner beyond the metal bars. It makes his job easier.
The prisoner has been locked away for so long that most have forgotten who it is. Either that or those who do know of their identity have never told a living soul, refusing to share the prisoner’s name even with the guards who periodically creep down the tunnel to bring them food. People in purple robes used to come down here in the beginning, but over time, they gradually stopped visiting. It’s been three years since the last cloaked visitor had stood outside of the prisoner’s cell. The other torchbearers theorize that the prisoner huddled in the shadows of the cell like the blind salamanders who live down there is a beast too hideous for the light. The occupant never speaks, so it is hard to tell if they are an animal or a person.
“Brought some more food,” the torchbearer mumbles as he shuffles up to the bars. His voice echoes eerily through the silent cavern.
As usual, the prisoner says nothing in return. The previous bucket brought down a few days ago is empty and sitting outside of the cell door. The torchbearer tries to cast the light deeper into the cell, but the shadows skitter across the small enclosure and cloak the prisoner as though protecting them. He glimpses a barefoot dragging back into the corner before darkness masks the prisoner entirely. Only glassy eyes with dilated pupils peer out of the shadows, the whites of their eyes bloodshot.
“Good, you’re still alive.” The torchbearer shoves the bucket of food and bottle of wine through the bars and hastily steps back just in case the starving caged beast decides to rip off his hand with knife-like teeth.
“Yes,” comes a reply. “Unfortunately.”
The torchbearer nearly jumps out of his skin, catching himself just in time before he hits his head on the low ceiling. He nearly urinated himself at the sound of that raspy voice. A woman’s voice. Not a beast then. Or maybe she was a beast. Many strange creatures have been known to speak the common tongue of man.
Uneasy, the torchbearer scampers back up the path without looking back. He doesn’t want to engage the prisoner in conversation. He doesn’t want to know who she is or why she is a prisoner.
He doesn’t want anything to do with her. Just like the rest of the world, he wants to forget about her.
“Please,” the voice calls. “Please, let me out.”
Just like all his previous dreams, Rook woke in a sheen of sweat, half believing he’d just been in that damp cave himself. He swore the cloying scent of loam and mold still lingered in his nose. As he lay in bed with the flush of dawn creeping in through his open window, questions lodged like arrows in his mind. Who was the imprisoned woman? Was it a fictional scene stolen out of a dust-coated myth, or was it a present reality?
His mind tracked back to the man with the torch, whose colorless eyes reflected the flames like cloudy water. With the man’s white hair and the dream’s cave setting, it was likely the mysterious prisoner was kept somewhere in Terradrin. Again, he wondered if the dream had been extracted from a moment long ago, or if it was a window into some poor unfortunate soul’s current reality. If he had gotten a better glimpse of the shadowy prisoner, he might’ve been able to determine the meaning of the dream. Those pale blue eyes glinting in the darkness were seared into his memory.
Rook rose from his bed and hurried across the chamber. He cast aside the curtains and stood in the sunrise, letting the dawn winnow away the claggy dampness that seemed to linger from his dream. Slowly, he pulled out the tiding feather from his pocket and held it up to the light. Raven’s message appeared: Meet me in 3 days. Name the location and I’ll be there. The letters glowed like heated metal, awaiting his reply. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
“Good tidings, sister. Meet me at Widow’s Cove in three days. Come alone.” His words scrawled across the feather-like glowing ink spilled from an invisible quill, replacing Raven’s original message.
Widow’s Cove, a small bay found on one of the mid-islands that made up the Isles of Mythos, was sheltered by lush trees and high teeth-like crags difficult to traverse on foot. He would not easily be followed by Sune or Aurelia if he briefly stole away. It would be a quick, efficient meeting. He would meet Raven, inform her of Selussa’s treachery, secure her alliance, and then return to the rescue party before anyone knew he was gone. With Rook’s message now emblazoned on the tiding feather, he whispered his sister’s name and sent it flying out the window. It stole away on a phantom breeze and flitted out of view.
He prayed that his stubborn sister would heed his instructions. If Raven brought a sizeable flock of soldiers with her, she would be spotted by rebel scouts. If Sune and Aurelia caught wind of any Auran soldiers stalking the Isles of Mythos…He didn’t want to think what they’d do to him.
He tried to calm his racing heart. Ultimately, whatever happened next was out of his control. Either Raven would show up as instructed or he would be labeled a traitor. Until then, he would put his head down and assist with the rescue efforts. Rook quickly dressed and slipped out of his chamber, trying to chase away the growing unease that frosted over his heart.
There was no turning back now.