Author's Note: Thank you to all my readers, reviewers, and subscribers.
Of Light
Chapter Seven
- The Northwestern Road -
Night was falling fast. They had slowed their horses to a walk. Cain waited for Hass to report back that he had found a suitable place to make camp. Out in this wilderness where no one but wild things lived, he didn't want to camp near the road. The countryside was on a gradual incline; they had reached the foothills of the great mountains to the Northwest.
Finally, Cain heard the pounding of hooves, and in the growing twilight saw Hass riding quickly towards them. Cain spurred his horse forward, away from Azkadellia's side, to meet the corporal. "What have you found?" Cain asked. With the darkness thickening, he wanted to make camp as soon as possible.
"Five minutes ride or so from here is a rock shelter. Not large enough to pitch even one tent inside, but I checked it out and it's secure. It will provide protection from the wind. You might post a guard above," Hass reported. Cain nodded.
"Lead the way," he said. "We'll follow."
He rode back to the Queen. "Your Majesty, Corporal Hass has found a spot to make camp. I'd like it if we could hurry."
The Queen nodded. She was exhausted, but tried not to show her strain to the soldiers surrounding her. "Of course, Captain Cain." She followed behind the captain, her daughter riding beside her. In the dimness, she could not see her daughter's face. She focused herself back on the ride; somehow, knowing the day of travelling was almost over, the last few minutes were almost unbearable. The pain in her back and her legs crept up, burning hotter. Almost there.
To have a fire built, the tents pitched, and the horses cared for took close to an hour. Cain had found himself grateful his royal charges travelled light. The night was black and the forest beyond the fire indiscernible. The eight companions were alone in their little island of firelight, the world outside may not have even existed.
They'd put almost eighty miles between them and Finaqua that day. A little over halfway there. They would arrive by late afternoon tomorrow, he hoped. Hoped. Soon they would lose the road, the cover of the woods.
"Two guards will be on watch at all times tonight," Cain explained to the Queen. "One above, and one below." He nodded towards where Pvt. Burrows sat perched atop the rock shelter, outside of which the tents had been raised. "I want to be ready to leave before first light tomorrow."
"My daughter and I will be ready to go, Captain." Cain nodded at her. Her quiet, wispy voice made him nervous. She seemed ready to turn into a puff of smoke and blow away on the breeze. I must be getting tired, he told himself. But watching this woman, he wondered where DG had come from, gotten that irrepressible, frustrating spirit.
Maybe the Other Side makes all the difference.
He tried to imagine DG more like her mother, willowy, pale. Breathy sighs forming words instead of a strong, steady voice that thought it was always right. It was hard, but it near put a smile on his face.
He shook his head. Just stop that right now, Wyatt.
The Queen was rising to her feet. He stood, respectfully.
"I think I will go to bed, Captain. Goodnight, gentleman." She nodded at the other men, who had jumped to their feet. Pvt. Abbott hopped forward, held the tent flap open for her, and then let it fall once again. Cain shook his head in dismay; his men fell all over themselves to help the Queen, but left Azkadellia to him. Princess-sitting; it sounded easy, but Cain knew that the phrase 'misconception' didn't quite cover it. This fact alone kept him on edge, even though Az wasn't half the trouble her sister was.
Azkadellia soon went to bed as well. When Cain rose as she did, she nodded at him, but didn't smile. The corners of her mouth twitched, he noticed, and the line of her mouth stretched a little farther. He had no words of comfort for her, not in the company of these men. He helped her into the tent, said goodnight, but was only greeted with silence.
Hours later, Cain still sat feeding the fire. Hass stretched out on the ground beside him, throwing twigs into the flames. Two of their company slept, while two guarded, one sitting in the darkness just beyond the firelight.
"We saw no signs today of trouble," Hass offered.
"No, no trouble," Cain said, staring into the flames. The heat he felt was comforting; years in his tin suit had left him appreciative of so many little things. The snap and pop of logs devoured by flames was one of them, reminding him of taking Jeb fishing as a boy. Of Adora, entangled naked with him before the hearth, making love in front of the fire, before they'd had a child.
"Up in the mountains we'll have to be more vigilant," Hass continued. "There will be too many places for anyone to hide, too easy to attack."
Cain nodded, and looked at his young companion. The man couldn't have seen much service before the Tower, but he knew what he needed to know, and Cain was impressed with the young corporal's insights. But he knew now the man across from him was fishing to start a conversation, perhaps to speak his troubled mind. Cain did not deter him, but did not offer anything up.
Finally... "Do you really think they're after the princess?"
"I couldn't tell you."
"I thought they had demobilized. A long, long time ago. I thought they were forgotten."
"I've learned in the past couple of months to stop thinking of things as forgotten," was all Cain said.
"Why resurface now, after being silent for so long? And why go after Azkadellia?"
Cain held his tongue.
"And another thing," Hass said. He lowered his voice, looked around suspiciously, as if someone might come leaping out of the bushes at any moment. He looked back to Cain. "To leave the palace at Finaqua unguarded. If they are after the Princess Azkadellia, wouldn't her sister be in as much danger?"
Cain shook his head. "DG is perfectly safe."
Hass was a little curious at the captain's informal address of the princess. Just the like rest of them, Cain held himself strictly in check around these significant women. This, however, did not dissuade him from pushing forward. "You think they won't attack Finaqua, just as the Queen said they threaten us now?"
Cain looked hard into the young man's eyes, his tone ringing finality. "DG is in no danger."
Hass nodded, looked around nervously once again. "I'll turn in, Captain," he said. "McLauren will wake me at five for my patrol." Cain watched the young man go to his tent, offering no goodnight. He knew he should follow suit, but the fire held him. Demobilized, Cain thought.
The country had embraced their queen, the beautiful, selfless woman with the lavender eyes. Rejoiced and raised her to her throne without remark. To be summoned to her office to find her pacing and fretful was a surprise.
Cain got up from the fire, went to his tent. His mind stayed back in the Queen's audience chamber.
"Nothing must happen to Azkadellia," the Queen had said, her voice as firm as he had ever heard it. It echoed in his head now. "She knows she is in danger from the Longcoats. We cannot allow her to find these insurgents target her as well. We move with the utmost secrecy and caution."
"Is hiding these facts from Azkadellia wise?"
"Captain," the Queen had said. Her lavender eyes bore into him. "My daughter is unstable. With the Emerald in her possession, it draws on her power, feeds on her. You will not have her magic to help you on this journey, not in any significant amount."
"I hadn't expected it. My men and I are more than capable of handling any trouble that finds us."
"With the Emerald back under its Guardian, Azkadellia's magic will be at its full strength. And we will have little to fear on the return journey."
Cain had shaken his head. His only knowledge of magic had come from watching DG, and her magic was temperamental at best. It seemed foolish to become so complacent as to rely on such frivolous means of protection. He had always held his faith in his own force of will... and his shooting arm.
The Queen's gaze then, over the empty desk, had reminded him of the Mystic Man; the promise that had been like blood from a stone. It made him uncomfortable, as sadness often did, thinking about the poor old man. He'd been green when he was first assigned to the Mystic Man. Now, weathered and tired, here he was, guarding those who could not guard themselves. Cain stared up at the canvas of the tent in the semi-darkness.
The Queen's voice swirled in his mind, louder than she seemed in life. "Azkadellia must not know of the Outlanders. I cannot stress this point enough."
"You have, Majesty," Cain said, trying to be a comfort but wondering if could be. "I will have to inform my men, however."
"Yes," she said, nodding. "Yes. They must be informed."
Cain turned restlessly from one side to another on his sleeping roll. Thoughts of DG pushed, somewhat inappropriately he thought, into his head. He covered his eyes with one hand, blocking out the dim light from the fire, still burning bright outside the tent. Abbott probably fed it now, vigilance bleeding into boredom as the night wore on.
Sleep, Wyatt, he told himself. You're going to need it.
- Finaqua -
Darkness had fallen over the palace at Finaqua. Dinner had been cleared away, and those that remained of the household adjourned to the parlour. Raw sat quietly by the window, introspective. Glitch had returned to perusing the bookshelf, trying to reawaken his knowledge. DG was pestering her father.
"It was 1972, the year I crossed over," Ahamo said. In his hand he held a glass of wine, which he was watching intently.
"You getting curious was the bottom of that glass looks like?" DG asked teasingly. He had been musing at length for quite a while, at her insistence. First about her childhood, then his time with her mother before the marriage, the children, and now he moved backwards to his time on the Other Side. A life in reverse.
"Nixon was recalling the last of the troops from Vietnam," he continued. "I was sixteen that year, too young for the draft, too young for the war. Thought flying my Pop's hot air balloon as a demonstration at the fair was a good idea." Ahamo paused, shook his head at himself, smiling. "Best idea I ever had."
DG laughed. Ahamo drained the last of his wine, began to hum a little to himself. Her heart swelled and tears entered her eyes as she recognized the tune.
Bye, bye Miss American Pie...
She began to sing soft words, accompanying his impromptu memory. When he stopped humming, she kept singing, until she fumbled on the words, and had to stop. Her father was beaming at her. He stood, and kissed the top of her head. "I'll go to bed, I think." DG watched him leave.
In the doorway, he stopped, and turned back to his daughter. "Did they elect Nixon for a second term?"
DG laughed. "Yeah they did. Ask me tomorrow about Nixon's 'second term', Dad. Go to bed."
Ahamo smiled at her, disappeared. She could hear him singing to himself faintly "I met a girl who sang the blues, and I asked her..." but his voice faded as the massive palace swallowed him whole. She realized that paying attention in her American History class was going to end up being rewarding. She shook her head, laughing. And they say you never use what you learn in school.
Glitch flopped down on the sofa beside her. "Youuu," he said, dragging it out, "were quiet at dinner."
"And you," she said, nudging him a little with her elbow so he'd move over, "went off topic during dinner at least three times."
He shrugged. "Still glitching a lot. It's hard to keep my thoughts in line. Unruly bastards."
She laughed. She noticed her second companion, her heartfelt guardian, sitting across the room, watching out the window. What could he see? It was black outside. "Raw, come sit with us."
The Viewer shook his head. "No, Raw will go to bed." He looked troubled, upset. "DG rest well," he said. He nodded at Glitch, left the room. DG watched after him, worriedly.
"He looks upset."
Glitch watched the doorway through which Raw had departed. "I don't know," he said slowly. "Lots of things could be upsetting him. There are lots of people in this palace, and lots of things going on. He might be picking up on something."
A second later, he was standing. Moving over to the desk, shuffling through a drawer. He pulled out a thick pad of paper and an expensive looking fountain pen. He sat down in the chair at the desk, his back upright. DG knew in that second that she'd lost him once again.
"I'm going to my room now," she told him. She didn't want to sit in the quiet parlour, listening to his frenetic scribbling.
He turned to her, then stood. Gave a stiff, proper bow. "Goodnight, your Highness."
She rolled her eyes at him. "G'night, Glitch."
As she walked out of the parlour, he called after her. "My name isn't Glitch!"
Walking up the stairs, she ran into two maids, who also showed her too much respect. She nodded, cocking the necessary half-smiles. Back in the sitting chamber outside her bedroom, she held the door at her back, leaned her head against the heavy wood. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Moments like this, when it was all too much, caused an almost panic. Tears threatened to fall for no reason at all.
Regaining her composure, she shook her head. "Get a hold of yourself, DG."
When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw were the Gale books.
She hadn't made it very far into the first one. What she had read had disturbed her. Terrified her, when she coupled it with the dream she'd had. The dream... was it just that? Something her mind had concocted, perhaps because of her agitation after saying goodbye to her mother... to Cain?
It was just a dream.
No... she couldn't convince herself of that. In the O.Z., where magic was pervasive, a part of her life. Where memories were real, pliable things. Her own mother had invaded her head to warn her. Could this be the same thing?
You can't be suspicious of every dream you have for the rest of your life, girl.
She wanted to pick up another book, but she didn't want to read anymore. Instead, she crawled into her bed, grumbled in her head about the maids. Every morning she made her bed, habits from an old life; every night when she crawled in, she found it remade, crisp sheets tightly tucked. Military tight. She kicked her legs around under the sheets for a few moments before hugging her pillow, settling down. She willed her brain not to dream of Dorothy, to prove that it had been just a dream. She sent her thoughts out wandering... and they landed on Wyatt Cain.
Well, that's not going to help me sleep.
She tried to banish him. But once in her mind, he wouldn't leave easily. She couldn't cajole imaginary Cain as easily as the flesh and blood man. She set herself to planning the menial things they would find to do during his stay. It excited her, thinking of the five of them back together again, no stress and no worries. Maybe they would be able to laugh.
- DG's Chambers -
They were slavers.
She was thrown into a cell, small and dark and cold. She heard them outside the door, dragging people down the passageway, people who cried in pain and exhaustion. She waited for them to come for her, but no one did. She shared her cell with a girl. When they opened the door and light poured in, she saw the haggard creature was older than she. Not too much older, but could she really guess? The girl said she didn't know how long she'd been there, could barely remember her own name.
"They're Outlanders," the girl had whispered in fear once. Guards would bang on the door if they heard them talking. But she encouraged her cell-mate, yearning for companionship. Her memories were still a blur, but she was certain that somewhere out there, someone missed her.
"What do they want us for? Where do they take you?"
"To their mines. They mine the stones here. My father said..." The girl faltered then, the memory choking her. She crawled over to the girl, reached a hand out until she felt a body, the girl's shoulder. She gripped her companion tight. Human contact was a blessed thing.
"Your father said?" she prompted.
"He said … said they are a part of the mountains."
The door was wrenched open. The sudden light from the passage blinded her. She shielded her eyes with her hand. A guard came for her, hauled her to her feet. "You," he said. His skin scraped against hers painfully. It registered somewhere, vaguely. A part of the mountain. "Roke wants you."
She tried to remember the lefts and rights as she was led away, but it was no use. The labyrinthine complex dizzied her. But, suddenly she recognized this place. This door being opened. They didn't throw her to the floor; she was shown a chair.
The same man stood behind the desk, and she realized that he wasn't a man, whatever he was, this 'Outlander'. The same emerald sat on his desk, only now in a small box, embedded in cloth so soft it looked out of place in the bleak, hopeless room. Courage, she told herself. Have courage. Somewhere from her foggy memory flashed an image of a hook-nosed spinster, and her heart blossomed with defiance. Clenching her jaw, she challenged him.
"You," he said. He chuckled; the sound seemed to grate in his throat. "You are a brave little girl."
"I'm not a little girl," she countered, trying not to sound petulant, but firm and cold, like him.
"But you are," he said. He was amused. "And you're the first one to look me in the eyes."
DG awoke slowly. Her limbs were heavy. When she opened her eyes, she knew it was still very late. But it didn't matter. Urging her body out of bed, her unsteady, sleepy steps carried her out of her room. Down a twist of well-lit hallways that hurt her eyes; by the time she reached her destination, she could see a little better.
She banged on the door. Moments later, it swung open.
"Who are the Outlanders?" she demanded.
Ambrose's expression of surprise at seeing her quickly dropped. His eyes skipped nervously before he would meet her gaze. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into his room.
"Why do you want to know about the Outlanders?"
DG tried to tell him about her dream, but it was slipping away, wisps of smoke disappearing. Ambrose eyed her suspiciously. "You had a dream about Dorothy Gale? The Dorothy Gale?"
"Yes, Glitch." She left out the part about dreaming she was Dorothy. "Who are these Outlanders?"
"Were," he corrected. "Who were the Outlanders."
She waited. And waited. "Well?" she asked impatiently.
Ambrose had moved to the window. It took him another moment to speak; she could see him struggling with the words. Finally... "They were miners... and mercenaries. Mountain people. They were high in the favor of the last King of the O.Z., Pastor, before he died... let's just say he would have given the Sorceress good competition in cruelty."
He sent her back to bed, stammering. She always put up a fight, with everything she was asked. Part of him found it infuriating, the other part was always amused. But when he was alone, he went back to the window. Stared out in the direction of the maze, unable to see it in the darkness.
They are in greater danger than she anticipated, he thought, thinking of the Queen and all her careful planning. If DG is having dreams about Dorothy, about the Outlanders, we might all be in danger.
