Whisper and Rise (12 page)

Screaming, I scrambled back out of the opening of our prison, but striking blows from the men outside met my legs. I cringed and rolled back into the smokehouse. There was no escape. I lifted my bound hands and gnashed at the ropes with my teeth. They were rotten and soiled, but I needed to free my hands. I needed something to fight back.

“Don’t touch me,” I warned, clambering against the wall opposite Darian. “I’ll kick you. You know I can kick you.”

Darian watched me and didn’t speak. Then he coughed. It was a hideous, wheezing roll that seemed to carry his insides through his breath. I knew the sound and understood that he was injured.

“Who’s that?” he asked, pointing at Ethan.

I leaned toward my brother. “Stay away from him.” My fear chattered in my teeth.

“Is he dead?”

“No. He’ll be okay. He’s only unconscious.”

“Then he’s lucky.”

Darian didn’t move. In the wavering light that managed its way into our prison, I saw the terrible wounds that were keeping him from assaulting me. His face was bruised and dark. Soiled bandages covered his right arm. His shirt was covered with a rusty stain from his shoulder down to the end of the sleeve. He coddled his arm and held it close to his chest. As I stared, I wondered what other injuries the man was enduring. Bruises didn’t make a man cough like he did. A speck of pity crossed my thoughts and vanished. Darian was responsible for Sean’s death. I glared at him and continued chewing on my rope.

“Would you like some help with that?” he asked. “My hands are free, I can untie you.”

I shook my head insistently and cowered back again. The emotional impact of my actions suddenly caught up to me. I should never have left my parents. Had I listened to my mother, I wouldn’t have met the awful men outside and Ethan would be safe at home. There was no home anymore. I lowered my head and bawled into my fists. I didn’t care that Darian was watching me. Given the smallest of chances, I was certain that he would finish what he had been trying. I couldn’t escape; the men outside were watching and the fount of my fears sat across the room. No matter what I did, it seemed, I was certain to die.

~ O ~

When I awoke, sharp rays of sun speared their way across the smokehouse and struck their dismay against the crooked boards. I normally welcomed mornings, but rising in this place meant an uncertain future, one that scared me more than anything. Ethan was sitting but didn’t speak when I lifted my head. Instead, he pointed across the tiny room. Darian sat against the opposite wall, eating a green apple.

I watched my enemy close and surveyed the room for something to eat. I was hungry, starving in fact, but was more worried about Ethan. “Are you hurt?” I whispered.

Ethan shook his head. He was watching me, but kept glancing back at Darian.
Did Ethan know who he was? Did he know the man’s terrible secret?
I found a pile of apples wrapped in a blanket in the center of the room. When I grabbed one, Darian broke the silence.

“Be careful,” he told me. “I tried to pick the good ones, but most of these are rotten. You’ll want to check first.”

I glared back at him.
What good was the word of a thief?
I grabbed an apple and bit into it with emphasis. “Ew!” I spat out the sour piece and threw the apple across the room. That’s when I realized my hands were no longer bound. “Did you do this?” I asked Ethan.

My brother shrugged.

“I told you not to touch me.” I snapped my words, aiming them sharply across the room. “You’re despicable.”

“I told you to check your apple first.”

Darian’s retort sparked a rage that I hadn’t known since the last time I had faced him. I growled at him, fueling the hate in me that I felt preparing to erupt. The man was wounded, but I could still hurt him. I could even kill him if I needed. There was no need to hold back anymore.

“Rhiannon, are you okay?” Ethan’s words had a soothing affect on my nerves, like the way my mother’s stroking hand on my father’s neck had always calmed him.

“That man is the bandit,” I told my brother through gritted teeth. “He’s the reason Sean is dead.”

“Who’s Sean?” Darian interrupted.

“Don’t talk about him!” My voice shook the boards of the smokehouse.

A long sword split the opening of the room, followed by the menacing face of our guard. “You’ll shut it, faerie, or we’ll cut you.”

The sword found enough of me to pierce my skin. It didn’t hurt, at first, but then throbbing fire tore through my side. The man laughed and disappeared. I examined my injury. It was only a tiny cut, but it burned from the trickle of blood that came. I had cut my fingers many times as a child, but that feeling had been nothing like this; I wanted to scream again, but understood the guard’s warning. The point of his blade convinced me he was in charge.

“Are you okay?” Ethan whispered.

I lowered my head to challenge the tears that fought to escape. This time, I wasn’t going to allow Darian the chance to see my pain. I wiped the blood with my thumb and cleaned it on my dress. “I’ll be fine,” I lied. After a deep breath, I looked up to face Darian. “It’s nothing like that gash on your arm. You’ll be lucky if you get to keep it.
If
you’re alive when this is over.” My words must have affected him, because rather than nod or retort, Darian rolled over and faced the wall.

“Why did you say that?” asked Ethan. He was close enough that I was certain his voice wouldn’t carry outside, let alone to Darian’s side of the smokehouse.

“He’s the enemy,” I whispered back, sharply. “He’s the one who I’ve been hiding from. He took the scrolls that were meant to save Sean.” I pulled my brother closer. “If Father were here, he would kill him.”

“Why are we here—” asked Ethan. He pointed across the room, “—with him? If he’s the enemy, why are we captured together?”

My brother’s words calmed me like a gentle hand across my neck. Suddenly, nothing I knew was certain. I breathed slowly; trying to form an image in my mind of what had happened to us the day and night prior. Nothing came. My head still hurt.

“I don’t know, Ethan,” I whispered back. “I don’t have an answer.”

~ O ~

While the night in Morgan had been chilly, the day burned fierce and hot. Sweat beaded on my arms and made my dress cling to me. Worse than the heat, the air in the smokehouse was stifling; it no longer offered the pleasant reminder of the home I had once known. Once, Ethan tried resting his head out of the leather-covered opening, only to receive a welt above his eye from a rock one of the guards had thrown. There was no escape for us.

Darian’s constant coughs and wheezes, intermixed with moaning, made our prison more terrifying. I tried passing the daylight by imagining I was somewhere else. I closed my eyes and thought of the bard songs, and of dancing at Stone Meadow. Each time I would almost arrive at a place I could be happy, a cough disrupted my trance and reminded me of danger I faced, from our both captors and the man across the tiny room. Darian kept his own counsel throughout the day. A few times I caught him staring at me, but always he looked quickly away. Under other circumstances, I would have given him a piece of my mind, but I kept quiet to avoid raising the guards’ ire.

The guards threw apples into the smokehouse—most of them were rotten. It seemed to be sport to them, mocking us as we ducked from the blows. They laughed when we moaned, and jabbed sword tips at us to keep us away from the walls and the opening. As the sun lowered to the west, announcing an approaching dusk, someone placed an old bucket full of water near the entrance of the hut. The three of us emptied the bucket quickly. The water was warm, but I was thirsty. I savored every drop and used what I dared to clean the cut in my side.

I captured the voices of our guards in my mind, trying to decide if I knew them, but there were many, and their grunts made it difficult to tell who was coming and who was going. I made a habit of sneaking peeks between the boards to watch the men. They sat near the tiny fire; some whittled with short swords, others sang badly, and a few tossed knives at an old tree stump. No one was familiar.

My thoughts became more dangerous than our prison. Afraid to speak, I spent too many moments inside my head, dreading what could happen next. Our captors had displayed their cruelty and disregard for anything kind.
Would they hurt us again? Would they kill us?
I looked at Ethan, asleep and still. An innocent boy, he didn’t deserve the fate we shared. My view drifted to Darian. He looked horrible. I hated the man, but no one should endure such painful injuries.

I closed my eyes and fought the tears that tried to come. I wanted to be strong. I needed to be strong. I searched inside for something good, something happy. A single thought, a flicker of beauty. A peaceful day. Something. But my memories failed me. Nothing good came into such a horrible place.

~ O ~

That night, the cold found us again. I snuggled next to Ethan, covered in our share of the blankets, while watching the fire outside and imagining the warmth it must have been offering our guards. Thankfully, the night didn’t last long. Soon after dusk, I drifted into slumber and didn’t wake until the sun was up the following morning. My brother and the enemy across the room still slept.

I lay for while, waiting for something—for anything, and then crept to the side of the smokehouse. My head still throbbed, though not as much as yesterday; I leaned it against the boards which were already warm from the sun. As I lay propped and listening, I noticed something in the wood. Faint and difficult to see, there was something carved into the grain. I lifted my head for a better view and gasped once I saw it clearly.

“What’s wrong?” asked Ethan groggily. He lifted his head from the bundle of blankets near my feet.

I traced the etching with my finger, absorbing the rough texture, and allowed its meaning to speak to me.

“Rhiannon?”

I didn’t answer. I continued to follow the lines. There were two of them—perfect circles joined together. I placed my palm on them and closed my eyes. Sean had been in this place.

My brother leaned over me. “What is it?”

I opened my eyes and revealed my tears along with a weak smile. “It’s love,” I told him in a low voice. “Sean made this.”

Ethan looked closer. “It’s a couple circles in the wood. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It
does
mean something. That’s a faerie symbol. It represents the abounding compassion of two people joined. It’s love.”

Ethan still looked confused.

“It takes practice to draw this with perfection,” I said. “No one in Morgan would know the symbols of the Fae. Sean knew some of them because I taught him. He could draw this one perfectly.”

“When was he here?” Ethan must have realized the answer before finishing his question. “Oh.”

Darian coughed and rolled closer. “Who was here?”

“A man they murdered.” Ethan spoke with a bite. “He was taken from our village last season. When his ransom was stolen, they killed him.”

I covered my mouth at the memory. It was awful enough to think of Sean’s death, but even worse to discuss it with the man responsible. Though I lacked the strength to wound him, I stabbed Darian with my eyes.

“These men killed him?” Darian pointed with one arm toward the fire outside.

I nodded. “It must have been them.”

“Then we’re doomed to share his fate.” Darian coughed again before collapsing.

I don’t want to die.
Fear haunted the halls of my mind while the agony of another day and night in captivity drained my strength. I wanted to stop thinking about what Darian had told us, but forcing a different thought seemed useless. My mind suffered from captivity more than my body did. I tried remembering the faces I had seen at the campfire the night we were brought, but my head ached.
Was Cael involved in this somehow?
The flicker of the night fire I had been watching through the boards of our prison was the only thing that gave me focus. It helped me study our captors.

A shuffle in the bushes outside alerted me to someone’s approach. I opened an eye and resumed my observation.

“Is he coming?” asked our guard. He hadn’t moved from his seat since I last had checked.

“In the morning,” answered the new voice. This man was bigger and his voice was distantly familiar. He knelt on a rolled log and leaned against the handle of a long sword he pointed into the ground.

“What’s their fate?”

“We’ve no use for any of them, Jory. I’m certain he’ll end this.”

“Good.”

Jory, a foreign name. I repeated it in my mind several times. Jory jabbed at the fire and produced a steaming strip of meat on the end of his knife. My stomach called for it while my mouth moistened with longing. I leaned closer to the crack in the boards.

“What of the faerie?” Jory snatched a bite of the flesh and stared at me. His eyes glowed red from the flames. “She’s worth something.”

“She’s no faerie,” said the bigger man. “But you’re right.” He chuckled. “She is worth
something
.” As he turned to stare in my direction, the firelight caught the blade of his sword—it flashed against the darkness.

I gasped, louder than I should have and shied away from the wall. As soon as I moved, a boot kicked the boards where I had been watching.

“Did you hear that, faerie?” said Jory. “I hope you were listening.”

He shuffled outside the smokehouse for a moment, but I couldn’t see him; there were only shadows against the bouncing light. I scrambled against the opposite wall, terrified of the man’s voice. Then felt an arm move next to mine. I started to yell but a hand covered my mouth.

“Quiet,” said Darian. “Don’t move.”

I obeyed, and was grateful for the warning. Soon after the words, one of the guards peered inside.

“Where are you, faerie?” Jory’s voice rattled with mocking evil.

He was a demon, that man, and I fought the urge to kick his teeth. Instead, I crouched in the grip of my enemy while waiting for the man to lose interest. When the bigger man, the swordsman, called him back to the fire, I dared a long breathe. I leaned forward to move away and realized how cold Darian felt, like a body whose spirit had already fled.

I turned to face him, still afraid, but more worried. In this place, his death could only bring me closer to mine. If the men’s words were true, I would be a victim by morning. “We need to get you away from here,” I whispered.

Outside, the flames suddenly roared and rose to greet the sky. Then they lowered with the laughter of the two guards. They had tossed something into the fire—ale, most likely.

“I can help you,” I said, continuing my hushed offer to Darian. “I know how to heal.”

He coughed again. I shuddered back from the smell of his breath. When I turned back to continue, he had climbed into the blanket.

“You’re going to die!” I didn’t whisper.

He didn’t seem to be listening. I wouldn’t have him die that night, not when I needed him, and I wanted him to know that. Behind me, I heard Ethan stirring. He moaned and then went quiet again. I scrambled to the other side of the smokehouse and peered through the cracks. The swordsman drank from a silver flask while Jory relieved himself on the trees. I crept back to Darian and shook his shoulders.

“Did you hear me?” I didn’t wait for his answer. “You’re going to die—soon.”

One eye opened, reflecting the firelight behind me. “I’m sorry about this,” Darian whispered. Then both eyes watched me, the flames dancing on black ice.

I wasn’t interested in a dying man’s confession; I needed his help. “Wake up.” I shook him again. “We need to escape.”

Darian shook his head and lifted his arm. “I’m useless,” he told me. “I can barely move and don’t know if I can walk. I think I
will
see death.”

I caught myself listening to his voice, instead of his words. Although weak, it carried the accent and wonder that had fascinated me the first time I met him. It was intoxicating; I wondered if ale had the same effect on men.

“But I don’t want you to die.” I told him, honestly, “Not like this, not here.”

“You hate me.”

“More than almost any man.” I pointed at the firelight. My voice quivered. “I need your help. Those men said that they’ll kill us in the morning.”

“Then I’ll die before morning.”

“I won’t. And Ethan is just a boy. Please, will you help us?”

Darian closed his eyes. I couldn’t tell if he was unconscious, or thinking, or ignoring my words. I watched him, barely breathing while he wheezed and coughed, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t dare say anything. The man was so mysterious, so dangerous, but so close to death.

Then he spoke, clear and wonderful, like life had found him again. “Wake me when there’s only one of them,” he told me. “That’s our moment to try.” As suddenly as he had awakened, Darian collapsed into slumber, leaving me alone with hope and silence.

~ O ~

I had never been so anxious to watch flames die. I pressed my face against the thin boards of the smokehouse, hoping the moment would come soon, and caught myself trembling with anticipation.

Ethan had woken soon after my conversation with Darian. My brother seemed eager for a chance to escape and crawled over to me with energy that I envied. He pressed near my back, vying for a view over my shoulder.

“Anything?” he whispered.

I nodded and remained silent.

Outside, Jory woke from a drunken stupor. I had watched him drink, spit, eat, fall over and then drink again before he finally chose a spot in the dirt to rest. The swordsman sat stoic and firm, watching the flames while carving a branch with a wide knife. Ethan had agreed with me; the man was familiar, but neither of us knew his name or knew what he did in the village.

“Until morning,” said Jory, while struggling to stand. He had to lean on the swordsman to right himself. “I’m finding me a warm bed.”

The swordsman chuckled. “You’re leaving
now
? You’ll be lucky to make it to home in the dark.”

“I always find my way.” Jory stood next to the smokehouse. He kicked the boards hard, making me jump. “I’ll just follow the stench.” Jory stumbled and fell, and then cursed the ground. He started singing as he wandered away, but it quickly changed to slurred mumbling.

I woke Darian. “He’s alone,” I said, shaking him softer than before. “There’s only one guard.”

Darian winced as he rolled to the center of the room. I could tell he was holding back a moan, but didn’t mention it. Silence was an ally we needed.

“Who is he?” whispered Darian. He nodded in the direction of the fire.

“I don’t know. The man carries a long sword. I’ve met him before, but don’t know his name.”

Darian crept past me and I moved aside to allow him a view.

“Tristan,” he said, turning back to me, “his name is Tristan.”

As if answering his name, Tristan left his spot at the fire and walked closer to us. His shadow grew until covering all the light afforded by the tiny cracks between the boards. We lay silent, barely allowing our breath to sound, while he hovered near the smokehouse. With a grunt, he ambled back to his log.

I stared at Darian in the darkness.
How could he know so much about our captors?
I knew Tristan; I grew up with him. I hadn’t seen him in years. The man at the fire didn’t look like the boy I had known. “Are you certain?” I asked. I kept my voice barely audible, not wanting another visit from the man at the fire. “How do you know his name?”

“That man has guarded me for months.”

I wanted to slap my head for the nonsense I had been thinking. It was as if Darian had opened a window and allowed a fresh breeze to enter the room. Tristan was a man of Aisling. He worked for Owen Dorsey. He was friends with Cael Bauer. I glared through the tiny crack as emotion swirled inside of me. Everything I had thought to be true was unraveling at the word of my enemy. I turned back to Darian.

“Who are you?” I asked. “Why did you come here?”

Darian held a finger to his lips, motioning for me to silence. I had forgotten my place and spoken, but I didn’t care. I wanted answers.

“I’m just a stranger,” he whispered, “nothing more.” He peered through the boards near my head, obviously concerned at my loud outburst. After watching for a moment, he turned to me and Ethan. “Are you ready to try?”

I was confused. So far, Darian hadn’t mentioned any sort of plan. I had no idea what we were to do, or where we would go. I knew Aisling was across the lake. “What are we doing?” I asked in a sharp whisper. “The man is armed. He may kill us if he catches us sneaking away.”

“He’s been the guard every time I’ve escaped,” said Darian. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s not that alert.”

“Is that how you did it?” I asked. “The other times you escaped?”

Darian nodded and covered his mouth. He must have noticed something. I flattened myself to the hay and closed my eyes, mostly. Tristan ambled to the opening of the smokehouse and peered inside, nudging Ethan with his end of his sword. Ethan moaned and rolled over as if the point had disrupted his slumber. Tristan watched us for a moment before disappearing outside. Through the board cracks, I watched him stroll to the closest tree, snap a branch with one hand, and then break it over his knee. He tossed the pieces into the fire before matting a blanket to rest on. Just as Darian had mentioned, the man was planning to sleep.

“You were right,” I whispered.

Darian shook his head and leaned so close I could feel his breath. “He’s not asleep yet. He’s testing us. Wait for the snores.”

I had grown accustomed to snoring from my father. Even with my parents’ door closed, his rattling night voice never ceased to shake the hallway between our rooms. I had often wondered how mother put up with it. We used to tease Father about his snoring, but he always denied it.

“I can’t hear it, so it’s not a problem,” he used to tell us.

I wondered if Tristan had the same problem. Perhaps he never knew he snored, and didn’t realize the weakness in his guard.

We waited, crouched and ready for a sign that our captor was dreaming. It felt like the night was passing us by, and every passing moment made me nervous for the coming dawn. I wished I could see the sky or Taylor’s Ridge. It would help me know how close to death I truly was.

As I started doubting my alliance with Darian, a raucous sound started. It began low, like rocks grinding together, then grew loud and sharp. Tristan’s snoring rivaled anything my father had ever conjured. His was the thunder in the dark, worthy of a thousand drops of rain. I shuffled toward the small opening, but Darian held my leg.

“Wait a moment,” he said, crawling past me. “Where do we head once we’re outside?”

“We should go to the lake. Aisling is on the other side.”

Darian pointed to my brother. “You’ll need to go first.”

“Why me?” Ethan asked. He caught his words and covered his mouth to silence his voice. “Why should I go first?” This time, he whispered.

Darian leaned closer us. “Listen,” he said, “We can’t just run out of here. Someone’s going to hear us, and once that man wakes up, he’ll chase us down.” He must have seen the fear in my eyes, because he explained himself further. His voice was low and ominous. “You’re going to knock his head with a rock,” he said, pointing to Ethan.

I grabbed Darian’s hurt arm with a grip that showed him every bit of my intention. “That’s not a plan,” I growled. “You’re going to get us killed.”

“Isn’t that the point,” he said, wincing. “We’re all dead, anyway. I’m just trying to give us a chance to escape.”

Before I could respond, Ethan crept through the smokehouse opening to the outside.

Darian was quick to follow, surprising me with a sudden burst of energy. Since meeting him here in this place, I hadn’t seen him move much, but with a flash of shadow, he left me alone in the smokehouse. I had no choice but to follow.

As I crawled through the tiny hole, everything spun in a blur of commotion and silent chaos. Near the fire, I saw my brother lift a stone and smack Tristan in the head with such force that I thought the man would die. When Tristan shuddered and shook, I gasped. I was certain he
was
dead.

Ethan stole Tristan’s long sword from the soil, dashed toward me and grabbed my arm. “Come on,” he hissed, pulling me away from the smokehouse.

I was already running and we quickly caught up to Darian, as he scrambled in the dark.