Silent Hall (28 page)

“Rest now, sweet little ones,” said the captain. “We will return as soon as our prince has spoken.”

With the thud-thud of hooves slowly fading away, Phaedra turned back to the cluster of frightened children. Sweet little ones… those words made her shudder. She couldn't help but feel that the fairies meant them literally.

T
hey sat
for an hour or more, awaiting their captors' return. Phaedra tried to teach the children a game to keep them occupied, but she explained it poorly and they became restless and frightened again. Hunter lay on his back with his eyes closed, listening to Phaedra's winding explanations and wishing his whole body didn't ache so. Offering to carry little Rakon had seemed like such a good idea at first, but what had Hunter known? Once he had offered a ride to one…

He hoped his back would recover soon, but somehow he doubted it. He suspected that it would ache for at least the next day or two, and quite possibly longer. It was a frightening thought. The fairies would never willingly let them go, so if they wanted to survive, they would have to break out somehow. How would Hunter run or fight if his whole body was stiff?

He wished he still had his sword, though he doubted he would have been able to fight their way to freedom. The elves bore their weapons confidently, and those elvish sickles did not strike him as ornamental. The sharply curved blades extended from shafts almost three feet long, making them well designed for one-handed use when mounted in battle or two-handed use on foot. They were practical and deadly. Hunter might know nothing about elves, but weaponry was another matter.

He didn't really expect to break free. He longed for his sword because sharpening it had always calmed his nerves. Without it, all he could do was lie there and try not to go mad with fear.

He opened his eyes and took a good look around. This room was damp and alive, its floor covered in a bed of moss and mushrooms. There was a gurgling pool of water at the far end, fed by some subterranean spring. The walls were made of dirt and roots – roots so thick and tough that Hunter doubted he could have cut his way out even if the elves had left him an ax. With a sudden thought, he rose to his feet again, walked over and thrust his arm into the pool of water. No, it was no good. The deeper parts were not nearly wide enough for a body to slip through. Even that most dangerous of escape plans was impossible.

The thorn bush rustled and parted and all eleven raiders entered, sickles in hand. Hunter jumped up with a jolt. He had not even heard their footsteps!

“The feasting games begin tonight,” the captain announced. “They will last eleven nights, and on the twelfth, one of you shall be named Apprentice, and another, Feast.”

She turned to the islanders. “You are too old for feasting, but neither shall you be servants. Our Prince has decreed that on the twelfth night, when your victory in the riddle game is but a memory, you are to play the game of wounds for the feasting crowd whilst Illweather drinks your lifeblood. Come now, little ones.”

The elves ushered the children out of the room.

“Well, great,” said Narky, finally breaking his silence. “So they're going to kill us, after all. Glad Bandu made such a difference.”

“Eleven days is a long time,” Hunter said. There was at least
some
hope of escaping. Bandu and Criton would come to their rescue…

And then they would be caught and killed. These fairies were not like the soldiers in Anardis: they had experience with magic, and powerful magic of their own. At most, Bandu's powers were a shadow of theirs. How could he ever expect Bandu or Criton to defeat a living castle full of elves? The best thing to hope for was that the two of them would stay away from this place, and maybe even live to find a way home.

“This place is horrible,” moaned Phaedra. “I wish… this place is horrible.”

“It's even worse than the stories made it sound,” said Narky, wincing and putting a hand over his eye covering. “They don't just use kids as slaves, they eat some of them. And I thought
Psander
was bad.”

“I think,” Phaedra said, “that the absence of the Gods drove them mad.”

“Maybe it drove them madder,” Narky replied, “but if they weren't trouble to begin with, how come the Gods abandoned them?”

Hunter thought about that. “Maybe they were too magical,” he said.

Phaedra nodded. “That's certainly possible. I think their nets are made out of the sky, just the same as the mesh between the worlds. With magic powerful enough to manipulate the mesh, the Gods might have seen them as a threat.”

“If They find some humans threatening,” Narky said, ruefully, “the fairies must have terrified Them.”

“Narky!” cried Phaedra.

He sat up. “What?” he said. “They've abandoned this world, Phaedra. They're not watching here, any more than at Silent Hall. Except here the wards are foolproof, because the Gods put them up Themselves.”

Phaedra sighed. “I don't understand you,” she said. “You pray to Ravennis when you need something, but when you think no God is watching, you blaspheme against the whole pantheon!”

“That's true,” admitted Narky, turning contemplative. “That's not very good repentance, is it? Why did Ravennis even spare me? I'm a lost cause.”

The Gods were mysterious beings, Hunter thought. That was what Father used to say. Father, whom the mysterious Gods had not spared.

“What kind of horrible games do you think they're playing with the children?” Phaedra asked.

“I don't know,” said Narky. “I don't want to know.”

“I wonder if Bandu won the games,” Hunter said, thinking aloud.

“What?” asked Narky.

Hunter fingered his empty scabbard. “The captain said when the games are over they'll name one child their apprentice. If they teach their apprentice magic, that could be how Bandu learned.”

“Could be,” said Narky, shrugging noncommittally. “I'd like to know how she got away from them when she was that young.”

“They might have let her go after a few years,” Phaedra suggested. “It sounds like that's what happened to the sage Katinaras as a boy. The elves keep calling us old, so they must bring all the children back after a while – the ones that are still alive, I mean.”

“I don't know,” said Narky. “Psander said the sage was, what, ten or something when the fairies sent him home?”

Phaedra nodded. “Nine, I think. He was six when he left.”

“Right,” Narky went on, “but she doesn't talk anything like the fairies, does she? She talks like someone who hasn't had to say anything to anyone for a really, really long time. Ten years, maybe. I think she escaped from here on her own somehow, not too long after she got here. I don't think they brought her back on purpose.”

Phaedra didn't answer. When Narky got to thinking, he was
smart
. Being here with these fast thinkers made Hunter feel like a clod. He'd felt this way around Phaedra and Narky before, but not so strongly. Maybe having Bandu around had made it easier not catching onto things too quickly. Now he felt alone in his struggle to keep up.

“Could you tell us a story?” he asked Phaedra. “Anything that's not about fairies.”

Phaedra nodded. “I'll tell you more about the sage Katinaras. He didn't live on Tarphae all his life, you know. When he was still young he sailed eastward, visiting all the islands of the archipelago and collecting myths and oral histories. He went as far as the land our ancestors came from, the great continent across the ocean. When he came back and told the people what he had learned, they rejected his teachings and cried for his blood, and he had to flee Karsanye. But the king respected his knowledge and had him secretly brought back to live in the palace, writing his philosophies out of reach of the mob.”

“What did he say to make them want to kill him?” Hunter asked. “I've never read any of his writings, but everyone knows he's Tarphae's most famous sage. Was he hated throughout his life?”

“Just about,” Phaedra said. “After he died, the young king who had grown up in his presence undertook the project of redeeming his name. He kept Katinaras' original writings in a vault, and had only the least objectionable portions copied and distributed. The rest of his writings took generations to filter out into the world, and they're still considered radical by those who have read them. I think if my father had known what they were, he never would have collected them. But he thought, like you, that owning the full works of Tarphae's greatest sage was more prestigious than subversive.”

“All right,” Narky said, “now I'm curious. What's so dangerous about these writings?”

“Oh, lots of things,” Phaedra answered cheerfully. “He challenged nearly everything we believe about the Gods. He argued that Karassa is not Mayar's daughter, but a former rival. He said that in the eastern islands and on the coast of the great continent, Karassa is the sole Goddess of the Sea, and that when our ancestors came to Tarphae and began dealing with the peoples of the western continent, there was a great struggle for supremacy. At that time, Atuna was not yet the great naval power it is now. As the continental cities grew in power and their influence spread into the westernmost islands, Mayar began to gain over Karassa as the God of the Sea and Karassa became a mere local Goddess. In the east, Her power is greater.”

“So She's not Mayar's daughter?” Hunter asked.

“Not according to Katinaras. In fact, the sage claims that the Gods have neither parents nor children, and that all familial ties between them were invented by men in order to explain allegiances and rivalries between cities. So Mayar and Magor are not really brothers, nor are Atun and Atel. They just have aspects in common, and their worshippers are usually allies in war.”

Narky whistled. “That really is radical. Is any of it true?”

Phaedra shrugged, but her eyes shone. “It's hard to know, isn't it? Do you see why all this fascinates me?”

They nodded dumbly.

“There's more,” Phaedra said triumphantly, lowering her voice as if someone might be listening. “Katinaras claimed that the Gods are not male or female, They are creatures of pure magic. The sexual distinctions between God and Goddess were also invented by men. He writes that They have consented to these human notions of sex only because it makes it easier for us to pray to Them, and to believe in Them. It's worth it for the power we give Them.”

“I wonder what Psander thinks of that,” Hunter mused.

“Me too,” said Phaedra. “One day, I'll ask her.”

“Sure you will,” Narky said, returning to his gloomy state. “When we reach the underworld. We're not getting out of here alive.”

“Bandu and Criton are out there,” Hunter reminded him. “They'll come to break us out. We just have to be ready.”

“Oh, really? Ready how?”

“Well rested, for one thing,” Hunter answered, lying down on his back again. “I've been carrying people all day, and not all of them were little.”

That quieted Narky down. They spent the next few minutes in silence. “The fairies can read minds,” Narky said at last. “Do you really think Bandu and Criton will be able to rescue us, against enemies like that?”

“I know they'll try.”

Narky sighed. “You're right. They're going to get themselves killed.”

“You can't know that,” protested Phaedra. “They beat the fairies once.”

“They ran for their lives,” said Narky. “The only way we beat the fairies was at the riddle game, so unless you think that's going to come up again…”

“Well,” Phaedra said, “is there any other way to get out of here?”

They turned to look at the thorn bush, almost in unison. “There's no way,” said Narky. “We have no armor and no protection.”

Phaedra nodded and sighed. “We have to try, though.”

Hunter swallowed. “I'll go first,” he said.

He stepped gingerly closer to the entryway, practically on tiptoe. When he was about four feet away, the plant started waving its thorny branches in his direction.
This isn't going to work,
he thought. Still, he pressed on. He reached out toward the branches, hoping to catch a hold and keep the thorns out of his way. The branches waved and rustled sideways, away from his outstretched hands. He edged closer. With each step, the bush further contorted itself to avoid his grasp. Maybe it would let him through! Within a step or two he would reach a place where he might be able to leap through to the other side. He carefully lifted his foot, inched it forward…

With a snap, the branches closed in on him from all directions, ready to tear the flesh from his bones. Hunter threw his whole body backward, covering his head with his arms. The thorns tore at his arms, legs, back and sides, ripping holes in his clothes and clawing at his flesh. Then he was out of their reach, lying on the ground and bleeding from a thousand scratches.

“Oh, Gods!” cried Phaedra, hobbling over to him. “I'm sorry, Hunter, oh I'm so sorry! We should have known!”

“We did know,” Hunter reminded her. “But I had to try anyway. It was worth the risk.”

“If you say so,” said Narky. “Better you than me. Good thing you covered your face.”

“Right,” said Hunter. “Phaedra, stop. There's nothing you can do for me. I was already hurting all over anyway.”

Phaedra shook her head, tears in her eyes. “You're so brave. I shouldn't have made you go.”

“You didn't,” Hunter told her. “I volunteered. It wasn't a bad idea to try.”

Narky snorted. “It was a terrible idea.”

They did not try again.

The elves came back a few hours later, bringing eight tired and battered children with them. Miserable as the children looked, Hunter was glad at least to see that they had all returned, and with every limb intact. As far as he was concerned, that had hardly been a foregone conclusion.

“Sleep now,” Raider Eleven recommended. “We will rouse you early tomorrow morning for your first full day of the games. Tonight was only a taste.”

The children did not even complain. Instead, they simply lay down on the moss and closed their eyes. The raiders left again.