Chapter 30: Imprisoned

“I keep dreaming about it,” she said, knowing that Pelam would understand what she meant.

Larean wouldn’t, of course. He didn’t seem to have the stomach for hurting his enemies.

There had been a time when she had found him interesting, his clumsiness charming and his illicit activities exciting. Now, she couldn’t understand what she had once seen in him.

She wasn’t willing to go as far as Pelam did, though. Then again, he was Agerian. He was used to a different way of seeing people. To him, the world could be divided into two groups: those who were Agerians, and those who weren’t. That was the complete opposite of how she had been brought up, and there were times when she had trouble understanding that part of him.

Even so, she reminded herself, you had to take the whole person into account. Granted, he saw himself as superior because of his heritage, but he was also brave, practical, and strong. But more important than that, he had committed himself fully to her cause of avenging Cairn.

Pelam turned to face her on the hard, wooden bunk he lay on.

“I know what you mean.”

Soria smiled to herself. I thought you would.

Although the cell they had been placed in was reasonably clean, it still stank of mold, moist hay, and rat urine. But given the circumstances, the guard captain had treated them surprisingly well, making sure they had food and water, and were never beaten.

As prisons went, it was not very large, and she could clearly hear some sort of commotion going on at the door to the building. She didn’t pay it much attention. Unless it was the soldiers of the Empire coming to retrieve them, whatever happened outside their cell had little to do with them now.

“What will you do after we’re done?”

Pelam thought for a moment. “I don’t know. I haven’t dared to think that far, really. If I survive, I’ll be a hunted man for the rest of my life.”

“We will be,” she corrected him. “We’re in this together now. The Empire and the followers of their gods must pay for what they’ve done.”

To their right, Larean scraped with his foot on the floor.

“You want to say something, thief?” Pelam muttered.

Soria felt she had to step in. Pelam wasn’t wrong to distrust Larean. Ever since they’d met the old hermit, she had felt uncomfortable around the Nimean. Who knew what those two had talked about when no one else was listening? Larean still hadn’t told them what Joas had said. Clearly, he didn’t trust them, and that meant she and Pelam couldn’t trust him.

Still, the thief had proven himself mostly loyal, in her estimation. Pelam was wrong about that. But more importantly, they couldn’t afford for their little group to implode on itself now. They shouldn’t forget they were in quite a bit of trouble here, and they had to stick together to make it.

More than that, Larean, with his fire magic, was the only one who might actually stand a chance of getting them out of this cell.

“Give him a break,” she told Pelam. “He did what he could to help you back in the tavern.”

The Agerian snorted. “And look what good that did us! We’re still here, aren’t we?”

Not feeling like the discussion was going in the right direction, she turned to Larean instead.

“Your magic, it fizzled back there. You think you could get it to work again?”

The Nimean looked up from the floor to meet her eyes. He seemed sad, she thought.

“I think so,” Larean said. “It was just so confusing back there. I didn’t have time to think. Couldn’t concentrate.”

“No, I know,” she said, trying to reassure him. “It was hard for me, too.”

The thief bit his lower lip, as if trying to delay what he was about to say.

“To be honest, I think it was more than that. I didn’t really want to use my magic. There were innocent people there. They would all have burned if I had. And we were the ones who started the fight.”

She nodded but didn’t say anything for fear of antagonizing Pelam. This was a delicate act, balancing the two boys.

The voices at the garrison door were louder now. Angrier.

“Soldiers!” someone shouted from outside. “Protect the prisoners!”

Soria stood up. As far as she knew, they were the only captives held in the garrison building. What was going on?

“Something’s not right,” she said. “Larean, are you ready if they’re coming for us?”

He nodded and lifted his hands. “I think so. Yes, I can do it.”

“Soria, take cover,” Pelam ordered, pointing to the sturdy wall beside the cell door. “Larean, fire at the door the moment it opens.”

Suddenly, a roaring sound shook the heavy stone walls of their cell. It made her think of Larean’s fire magic, but it was stronger, more primal, as if the fire itself was screaming in rage. Through the small, barred window in the cell door, she could see flickering lights of orange and yellow in the hallway.

Whoever is coming for us sure knows how to make an entrance.

Another rumbling sound echoed between the walls, shaking them dangerously. Debris—broken pieces of splintered wood and sharp shards of chipped stone—fell from the ceiling in a cloud of dust.

“Brace yourselves!” she shouted, pressing herself firmly against the wall.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. In the distance, Soria could hear fires crackling as the flames outside consumed everything combustible, leaving only ashes and barren stone in their wake. She wrinkled her nose at the acrid smell of smoke now seeping through the seams of the cell door.

Then, the rumbling sound came back, stronger than before. She could hear the mortar in the wall behind her crack, as it crumbled. Holding her hand in front of her face, she shielded her eyes as fragments of stone, hard and hot, flew through the air, singing her skin.

Behind her, someone coughed. The rasping sound told her they had inhaled too much dust. She should really check on them, she thought. But there was no time.

Through the fracture in the wall, she could see three people, led by a striking red-haired woman wearing a skirt and a red waistcoat, striding through the carnage toward their cell. Behind her walked a Knight Eternal—the same one from the tavern, she assumed—and a second red-haired woman, plain-looking and wearing a simple green cloak.

From the hands of the woman in the front, streams of fire spewed. Spinning, twisting tendrils of flame shot through the air, searching and probing almost as if alive. The roar was deafening, the smoke sickening. The rage undeniable.

Walking purposefully toward their cell from the opposite end of the corridor, the woman held up her left hand.

This time, the fireball that shot out from it was no mere tendril. The explosive flames boomed through the air, the sound reverberating in the ground and shaking Soria’s bones. Her ears rang with thunder.

She blinked. For a moment, everything had gone black. Behind her, someone—Larean, she guessed—was shouting her name through the whistling sound that seemed to come from deep within her own head.

Pelam tugged at her arm, trying to get her on her feet.

Looking up, she finally saw what had happened. The last fireball had collapsed the cell wall completely. But it wasn’t just the wall toward the corridor that had been destroyed. When she turned her head, she could see that the heavy outer stone wall of the keep had been breached as well. Through the hole in it, she spotted the dark night beyond, stars glittering in the sky.

“We need to go, now!” Pelam shouted.

Larean seemed to drag his feet. “She’s hurt,” Soria heard him protest.

Who’s hurt?

She staggered to her feet, trying to focus through the persistent ringing sound in her ears. For some reason, her legs didn’t seem able to bear her weight.

What happened?

She slipped on something wet and sticky covering the floor. Falling headfirst, the right side of her face made a sickening sound when it landed on the rough cobblestones with a crack.

There was a strange yet familiar smell of iron in the air, one which she knew was important but couldn’t quite place.

When she lifted her head, she could see Larean standing over her, concern on his face. Pelam’s strong hands had grabbed her left arm, trying to get her back on her feet again.

Soria braced her right hand against the stone floor, doing her best to help him. It slipped once more in the thick, red liquid that stuck to her palm.

Larean cried out. “She’s bleeding badly.”

“I know!” Pelam shouted, his reply filled with fear and anger. “But we can’t stay here. We need to get her to safety. Let her rest so she can concentrate and heal herself.”

Then the pain hit her. Like a cart slowly beginning to wheel down a hill, at first she barely noticed it, but with every passing second, the agony increased until it felt like she had been rammed by an out-of-control wagon.

Biting her tongue not to scream, she kicked with her legs to help the two boys along as they half-carried, half-dragged her through the breach in the outer wall.

Once they were out on the street, outside of the confines of the crumbled cell, she found it easier to move. The pain was still there, but for the moment she could push through it. They had to get away from their attackers. Nothing else mattered.

Resting her weight on Pelam’s strong arms, she stumbled down the dark street, now lit by the flickering light of the fire raging behind them. Around them, the inhabitants of Dawnlight were starting to come out of their homes, scrambling to help put out the inferno. The villagers, frantically running down the street, shielded them from discovery as they sneaked away. Somewhere close by, a stray dog howled, terrified by the pandemonium surrounding it.

Her head spun.

“I can’t,” she panted. “I need to sit down.”

Behind an old chicken coop and three large blackcurrant bushes, two pairs of steady hands gently lowered her to the ground. Resting her throbbing head in Pelam’s lap, Soria closed her eyes, just for a second.

She tried to focus, to draw on the Deepwell to mend her wound. But the pain was too strong. She couldn’t concentrate. Teetering on the brink of losing consciousness, when she most needed it, she failed to bring the funnel down to her body.

Soria said nothing to her companions, but she knew she only had minutes left.

Her heart filled with despair. She didn’t want things to end like this. Her life was too important to her. She wasn’t willing to lay it down just yet.

Darkness encroached on her.

* * *

Someone spoke to her. Slowly, she opened her eyes. How long had she been out?

“It’s a shame it should end like this, isn’t it?”

The voice that seared through Soria’s skull was as sharp as a knife and as clear as if the woman speaking had stood beside her.

“It doesn’t have to, though.”

Who…?

“You know who I am, little one. You’ve called on me before. I’m here on your invitation.”

Patera? She felt anger rise within her. Don’t presume you know me! I hate you for what you did to Cairn.

“The Dark Flame killed your brother. I did nothing. Incidentally, she’s one of the women who attacked you tonight. I thought you might like to know that.”

The god of healing and torture chuckled in her head, her voice crackling as if it were all a big, cosmic joke.

Thanks for bringing her to me, then. I’ll pluck her eyes from her head and slice her to pieces for what she did.

“You’re most welcome, little one,” Patera replied, ignoring Soria’s sarcasm. “Consider her my gift to you.”

For a moment, the god went silent. Then, her head-splitting voice continued.

“Now, we have business to attend to. You’ll be dead very soon, and you’re not strong enough to heal yourself. So let me propose an exchange.”

Soria wasn’t stupid. She knew what was coming.

I will not worship you! she thought, but was shocked by her own lack of conviction. Funny how the prospect of dying changed your perspective.

“But you already do. Your lips say you despise me, but your heart has always loved me. I’ve been with you this whole time. All that is left for us is to finalize the formalities.”

A sharp spike of pain reminded Soria of the stakes.

“All you have to do is give me permission to take a life, and I will return yours.”

Permission? Why do you need my permission?

Patera laughed, the sound echoing inside Soria’s skull like someone banging on a drum from the abyss.

“It’s just the rules of the game,” the god of the world crackled, deflecting the question.

Absent-mindedly, Soria noticed the agony of Patera’s voice searing through her head was stronger than the pain from her wound, but somehow, that did not seem important to her.

“I know you love your life too much to throw it away like this, for nothing,” Patera continued. “All you have to do is fall down and worship me, and I will give you all the knowledge of the world. People will come to you from the ends of Taeron, seeking your wisdom and your help. You will heal the sick and the wounded in my name, and I will glorify you among men. All this I will give you. Do you want to toil in the rice fields, or rule over the slaves working them?”

Soria thought of her Deepwell training, of how good it made her feel when she could use her magic to heal those in need, but also remembered how difficult it always was. How hard she had to concentrate to make sure nothing went wrong.

With the god of healing on her side, it would all be different. There would be no ailments too difficult for her to cure. She could bring restoration and health to everyone who suffered in this world. She, a small foreign girl from a remote rainforest tribe, would be the one kingdoms and empires alike looked up to for healing.

The blood seeping from her wound told her it was now or never. She didn’t want to die.

Do it, she thought. Heal me, and I’ll bow to you.

Nothing happened. She could feel Patera squirm like a snake inside the back of her mind.

“There’s the little matter of payment, though,” the god finally said. “I have this little rule, you see. Nothing big, really. But when one of my Dark Flames performs a healing in my name, she must be paid.”

Soria’s heart sank.

What’s this? she thought. Logically, it didn’t make any sense.

Then the god whispered to her, soothing words, like the teeth of a saw tearing through her mind.

“But what’s a small rule among friends? Let’s just say I’ll give you the first one for free.”

Patera laughed, chuckling a little at her own cruel joke. Of course, Soria couldn’t very well pay herself the coin, anyway.

“There is one tiny thing you can do for me, though,” she said, almost as an afterthought. “You do need to pledge your eternal soul to me, sweetie.”

Soria groaned. There was no time for this. She could feel her life ebbing away with every drop of blood flowing onto the cold ground. What did she have to lose? If she died, her soul would be gone anyway.

Yes, she thought, reluctant yet also eager to get things over with. Yes, I give you my soul, Patera, god of healing and torture. I worship at your feet, daughter of heaven.

In the distance, she could hear the dog they had passed by earlier, now howling in terror, slowly go silent.

Author's Note

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