Chapter 7: The Dungeon
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It was impossible to say that leaving their family or new friends behind was easy. There were so fewer resources between them, now. So fewer heads and points of view to think things through, the way Rowan had learned it was best. He already missed his sister's eye for strategy, and Marlie's motherly wisdom, and Zizi's unshakable faith.
All of that would have been a blessing, as he crept unseen with Allun, John, and Norriss through the ruined city. It was still as silent as a graveyard, with the streets deserted and the windows of the battered buildings dark. Every now and again they would sneak past a corner where a stone-faced guard in gray clothes loomed like a tombstone over the lifeless bodies of people who had dared defy the Dragon Lord in the last few hours. A terrible chill and a feeling of enraged helplessness swept over the four of them every time they passed such a sight; and it happened again, and again, and again.
Achingly, Rowan wondered if the famous bells of Habaharan had rung this morning to herald the dawn, as they had for centuries; or if they had sat silent with the rest of the city for the first time in an age. He wondered if there was anyone left alive to ring them. He wondered if the city's survivors had noticed, one way or another, if its ringing had comforted them or its silence had wounded them, or if they had even cared.
He held the map in his hands, guiding the way, as he had found himself doing since his childhood. Behind him, his friends were gripping his arms and shoulders, sharing his deep magic as he cloaked them. Through their touch, he felt the urge to cry out in alarm and anger rise in them many times, as they passed sight after awful sight; he felt them fight those urges heroically each time, very aware that making any noise now would be fatal. It had been quickly agreed that if he could only spare one power for now, invisibility would be best for this part of their mission. They could keep silent on their own with little trouble, they had reasoned. None of them had guessed how difficult that would prove to be.
But the way Annad and Ofelia had chosen for them was true enough, and they found themselves traveling steadily uphill. For a short time, it seemed as though they were marching toward the palace, itself. The buildings became grander, the farther they went, many with pillars framing their doors and intricately carved panels adorning the windows. Signs of heavy fire were scorched into the walls, though, and splintered wood and glass still littered the streets. More and more doors had been smashed in, marked with the brand of Shadow Lord as they sagged on their hinges.
Clearly, wealthy folk who had happily served the queen lived in this part of the city. Merchants, bankers, and other successful businessmen and women who had been able to pay their taxes on time, and perhaps buy their own people at market to do their busywork for them. People who had fancied themselves to be safe from the queen's wrath. How many of them had survived the night? How many of their children, or the people they had owned had survived? Where were they, now?
Sometimes, they passed a door with the Shadow Lord's brand upon it, burned into place over another sign – an emblem of a grach with its wings spread wide, the symbol the Zebak were best known by. It could only mean that someone of Central Control had lived there. They must have been generals, or other high-ranking officials, to afford homes like these. And now they were trapped in the Central Dungeon with all the rest, being tortured and slaughtered with as little thought as any other officer. They were strangely equal now.
Rowan found himself wondering furiously what those generals must be thinking at that very moment. Did they feel as betrayed as they were? Did they blame the leader they had followed like the morning star? Did they regret their actions in the past? Did they long for vengeance and justice? Or did they just long for a chance to prove their loyalty to her, and regain their status and fine belongings? He understood that such men and women were renowned for their cruelty and selfishness; but his own experience had taught him that even the most wayward soul could still see the truth and find the light again. He prayed that these souls had done just that, in the long night.
In any case, their strength and knowledge would be extremely helpful, if they were willing to lend it. Perhaps the bitter betrayal of their queen would encourage them to rise up against her. Maybe they would even be glad to see him suddenly among them. Certainly, they all knew who he was. With a start, he saw that there were only two ways such a meeting in the Central Dungeon could go:
They would either rally around him, or try with all their might to destroy him. The thousands of lower officers with the rebellion would join him at once, he knew. For the generals they served, however, there would be no in-between. From here, there was no telling what they would do.
All he could do was hope that what remained of Central Control would give him little trouble. And he would still have to find his missing family members in all that mess, or at least try to learn what had become of them. A little help from the survivors would be nice...
Finally, they turned the last corner written in their directions. That last turn had simply come just last, with no further instruction following it, and it was immediately clear why. They were suddenly standing in the middle of one of the city's broadest avenues, leading dead ahead, to one of the most imposing sights the Zebak lands had to offer. Set into the palace' lowest foundations, the only gate to the Central Dungeon gaped like a mouth, flanked by a pair of guards like all the rest. Between the two, the entrance had no door, no bars, no barrier of any kind; it was like a black pit leading into nothingness. But Rowan could see that blackness almost shimmering with a dark energy, and knew that something much more than a simple door was sealing the dungeon shut.
He knew that his companions knew this, too. He could feel them slowly recalling something of it from Iris' memories. They had never seen this place for themselves; but it was somehow familiar to them, as was the magic that guarded it, and how it could be undone. He felt Allun indulge in a surge of determination and pride, as he recalled that his own son had done this very thing before.
The son who he had secretly feared was too full of fancies and mischief to amount to anything. The son who had grown to real manhood in this city, doing great things for its people. The son who was now trapped in this dungeon for it, and likely not regretting one second of it.
Still, there was a barrier of dark magic blocking their way, and the pair of guards to contend with. He felt his friends balking at it all, unsure what to do next. He allowed a wave of earthen calmness from his own heart to flood them, and hushed them as loudly as he dared.
"We can do this," he whispered. "We've seen how it can be done, and they still cannot see us. This will be easy."
Indeed, as they began easing closer to the gate, Rowan was sure that this would be the easiest part of their whole mission. Each of them was reaching for the knives on their belts – small, useful tools which all Rinfolk were used to carrying, and used multiple times a day in mundane ways. They weren't much in combat; but in this instance, it was all they really needed. Even John was unsheathing his knife, rather than his much-missed sword.
Faster than they could believe, they were in striking distance of the guards. As soon as they were close enough, one of the pair frowned and glanced around warily, readying the lance in his hand.
"Did you hear something, three?" he asked the other, who also glanced around and ultimately shrugged.
"It's nothing, two," he answered gruffly. "Some mangey mutt in an alley, no doubt. Certainly not a tick, or anything like one. Just look around – there's nothing here."
"I don't know... We should take a look, just to be sure."
"Stay at your post, two. It's nothing, as I said."
That seemed as good a moment as any to attack and prove the guard wrong. Without being asked, Norriss and Allun darted out of their magical cloak and sank their knives into the guards' chests. Before the pair could fight back or even cry out in alarm, their beings seemed to dissolve in a puff of murky gray smoke and evaporate. In short seconds, their empty uniforms collapsed in a heap at the heroes' feet, leaving the four staring in amazement.
"Well," Allun quipped as he re-sheathed his knife, "that was easy. And awfully unpleasant."
"Surely, it won't go unnoticed for long," Norriss commented, glaring with distaste at those empty uniforms. "Rowan, can you open the door?"
"Maybe," he answered slowly, looking over the barrier and assessing it as best he could. It was of dark magic, certainly, but there was a strong sense of Fire among it. He knew at once that his earthen magic, weak against Fire, would do little good against it.
"Where is that moonstone?" he asked. "The power of element Air would be more useful here; and I believe Forley opened the door that way before."
"Yes, but how did he do it?" Norriss asked as he dug in his pocket for the stone.
"I suspect he just used it to will the door open," Rowan answered with a shrug. "Air is easy enough to manipulate, in that way. Hand the stone to Allun. He can do it, I think."
Norriss did as he was told without question; but Allun took the moonstone and its fine web of chain in his hand and stared at it doubtfully.
"I don't know what to do with this," he protested. "And... Forley had a lot more practice with it."
"That's the beauty of it," Rowan insisted. "Air takes next to no practice to master, and it is your element. Just ask the stone to open the door. Try it. You'll surprise yourself."
Allun still looked unsure of himself; but he knew better than to doubt Rowan's knowledge of deep magic. So he gripped the stone tight and frowned at the shimmering barrier, concentrating on it with all his might. The barrier seemed to ripple like water, all at once; then it blinked in and out, revealing flashes of dim light beyond it. At last, it vanished completely, and a shadowy corridor appeared before them.
It would have been more amazing, if not for the shrieking wails that came with it. The barrier had shielded everything from the outside world, it seemed. Now that it had been lifted, it felt like a wall of desperate cries had flooded into the silent street. The voices of men, women, and children mingled together in it, screaming in anger, fear, and terrible pain.
And the only way forward was directly into it.
The din was grating on his heart, but Rowan squared his shoulders and marched through the open gate with all the courage he could muster. Not knowing what welcome he might receive was frightening, but he had to start somewhere. Also frightened by the noise, and perhaps seeing the situation in a whole new light, his friends ran after him into the dungeon. Beside him, still marveling at the power he now held in his hand, Allun was slipping his fingers into the web of chain around the moonstone. Now that he saw the he could use it, he plainly didn't intend to let it go.
"And here we are," John shouted over the noise. "Now we follow the map through the corridors, find our people, and get out."
The rest of them stared aghast at him, unable to believe his narrow-mindedness.
"How can you say that?" Norriss demanded. "Look around you! Listen to these people! We can't leave them here to die!'
"Its impossible," John shouted back. "There are thousands of people in these cells! Rescuing all of them would be madness! Finding our own will be hard enough!"
"Have you learned nothing since coming here?" Allun demanded. "Have you not seen this place? Have you not heard its people? How can you still not understand this?"
And while the three of them went on fighting, Rowan heard the tide of pleading voices begin to change. The prisoners could hear newcomers arguing in the corridor, just out of their sight. Arguing plainly of missions and finding people, and who should be saved and left behind. They could hear that someone had breached the dungeon, against all odds. The nearest voices had ceased to wail in sorrow. All around him, more and more voices were begging for rescue. To not be left behind. Some were calling out names, blindly hoping that someone they knew and loved had come to find them.
The screaming, clamoring voices around him were like a gale. It was like his compassion and need to care for all people was being torn in all directions, lost in a terrible whirlwind. His friends were too busy yelling at each other to notice when he clapped his hands over his ears, trying to block out the storm.
And finally, Rowan could bear it no longer. For the first time in a long time, he felt the tremendous power of his own magic overwhelm him. For once, he snapped, and made no move to control himself.
"STOP!"
All at once, it was very still. It had only been one simple word, screamed at the top of his lungs; but it had nearly drained him of strength. Numbly, he realized that he had silenced half the dungeon, including some of his own companions. It hardly surprised him that he began to topple over, drained of his strength. He found sturdy, wiry arms around him, catching him before he hit his head. The world was spinning, and just a few voices were echoing distantly in his ears.
There was Allun's voice, trustworthy as ever, speaking soothingly and insisting that everything was alright. There was an unfamiliar voice nearby, demanding to know who was there. Another unfamiliar voice, commanding them to show themselves. A few others, sobbing in fear, calling out to others around them, and crying out to find that they were the only ones left with a voice.
"I'm sorry," he croaked. "I didn't mean it..."
"It's fine," Allun said evenly, reaching for his own flask and handing it over. "And it's probably better this way. Can you stand?"
Shaking his head, Rowan snatched the flask and tore off the cap. He drank deeply, and the world around him slowly came back into focus. It seemed a poor way to begin this step of the mission, when it had gone so well thus far. At least the storm had passed. With only a few voices left, he could actually hear what was being said. And he understood that such a burst of raw power could only last for so long.
The silence he had cast on these cells would pass, shortly. He tried to pull himself back together, determined to make the best of this lull in the storm.
"Who are they?" Allun asked. "The people who escaped your spell? Did you do it on purpose?"
Rowan shook his head again as he staggered to his feet. "Fire elements," he gasped. "Strong against my magic. Maybe strongest of all. One is nearby. That way. We need to speak to him."
A man's voice was still demanding them to show themselves, down a corridor to their right. Something about his voice stood out from the others in Rowan's mind. There was something in it that he liked, that made him want to see the face that went with it. There was a feeling of rightness about it. More than willing to let his heart lead him, he stumbled down the corridor, glad to have one of his oldest friends supporting him. Effected by the silence, John and Norris followed them slowly, terribly ashamed of themselves.
The badly lit corridor was filled with prison cells, each one packed tightly with captives. Strangely, they all appeared to be in grand attire. The men were all in handsome suits, and many of the women were in wide, expensive gowns. Some of the women had clearly cast aside their gowns some time ago, left milling self-consciously in their underthings. All of them looked terrified, and even more so to have suddenly lost their voices. They were looking to each other in pure horror, their mouths moving and soundlessly forming words. The youngest people among them were so frightened that they had burst into tears. Again, perhaps.
And all their beautifully colored eyes were wide, all at once, to see who was coming down the corridor. A band of pale, unmarked folk, walking freely through the most dangerous place they could think of. Surely, they were all guessing at who they must be looking at. They were all amazed, gasping in shock. But none to be seen was speaking.
"Where are you?" Rowan called out as best he could.
"Over here," came the voice he had been following. Down the rows of cells, a hand thrust itself between the bars that held it back. "Whoever you are, come! Quickly!"
The four companions hurried down the rows, finally finding themselves face-to-face with a man unlike the rest. Rather than a good suit, he wore a long, white coat, and had a pair of thick, badly cracked spectacles on his fine nose. He was skinny and weirdly pale, compared to the people around him. Aside from the obvious mark on his face, he didn't look Zebak at all.
"Who are you?" Rowan asked at once, surprised by who he had been led to.
The man squinted through his spectacles, holding them high and then low, trying to see him better. "Barret," he answered. "Doctor Halek Barret, of the royal laboratories. Who on earth are you, young man?"
He couldn't help cringing a bit, knowing very well what would happen next.
"I don't suppose the name, Rowan of Rin, would mean anything to you?" he asked slowly.
All around him, the silent people gasped in amazement. They still couldn't speak out loud; but Rowan could feel tremendous hope and relief filling them as the realized what he meant. The skinny man before him seemed to take a moment to to understand; but his pale eyes quickly grew wide, filling with quiet admiration.
"Ah. I see," he said plainly, holding his hands respectfully behind his back. His cell mates were clustering around him now, awed that he was the only one of them who was able to speak plainly to their hero. But Halek Barret stood resolute among them, unbothered by their desperate jostling and demands for attention. It was clear that he was a man of sense and reason, and difficult to move in any situation.
No wonder Rowan had felt so drawn toward him. This was the sort of person they all needed, just now. He drew himself straighter, determined to stand before this man on his own feet.
"I think there is a way to free all the prisoners from this dungeon," he announced, mostly to Halek Barret. "We have a map that shows the first part of the way, and we will gladly share it with you. But we still need a way to open these cells, and we must find our own people in them. Can you help us?"
The man's eyes grew even wider, and several ideas seemed to flash across them.
"I can, in fact," he said. "They redid the fixtures in this infernal trap many years ago; as a lad, I helped with the designs. If you don't mind my saying, my lord, it's peeved me to know this dungeon's secrets, but have no way to use them all."
Rowan didn't mind his saying at all. "That's perfect," he exclaimed. "Tell me what to do! How do we open the cells?"
The man glanced down at the floor, where the bars met the floor. It seemed that the two fit perfectly together, with no seam and no weakness. Only a few inches above the floor, however, a crossbar had been welded against those bars as reinforcement. Halek Barret knelt and pointed there excitedly.
"With the proper leverage here, these bars can be lifted up with ease," he explained. "Ah, it was always the former Dragon Lord's greatest joy to place the easiest escape just out of his prisoners' reach. To let them revel in it and despair. I must confess, I, too, had despaired at it. Do you lads have anything about you to prize the bars away? A long stick would do just the trick."
Allun looked over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes at John. "Well, our friend here has a rather impressive sword – if he would dare lend it to someone aside from his family, that is."
John glared back at him and unsheathed his sword at once, as if to prove the other man wrong. He slid the blade beneath the crossbar and began tugging at it from the hilt, and the bars certainly seemed to loosen. Seeing a place to be useful, Norriss jumped to help him. Little by little, the bars began to lift away.
This band of prisoners would be free, in a moment. Free to storm out in a panic and grab at their rescuers, or bolt for the exit, or a number of other things that could only lead to disaster. And, weakened as he was, Rowan was overwhelmed with anxiety at the thought of so many people coming after him. It sent a shiver down his spine, and he gazed imploringly at the people inside that cell.
"Please don't crowd me, when you get out," he said as politely as he could. "I'm not myself just now, and I'm afraid I can't handle all of you at once."
The rest of the prisoners looked dismayed, and many seemed to want to protest; but Halek Barret nodded simply, as if in approval. "A just request, my lord," he agreed, raising his arms to hold his cellmates back. "Do as the young man has asked you to, friends. Leave the Titan some room to work, and breathe. We owe him our obedience, and it is the least we can do, besides."
Rowan wanted to argue that he was not their lord, and that they owed him nothing; the mere fact that it had been suggested made his skin crawl. But he reluctantly accepted that this was the only way these people knew to act toward a Titan, and that for now, their obedience was a blessing. As it was, the rest of the prisoners had done as the doctor had told them to at once. Even the most desperate of them had backed away a bit, looking as disappointed as the rest, but now willing to give him the space he needed, if only because it had been so calmly commanded.
The men and women of Central Control had been trained from birth to obey without hesitation. They responded best to direct commands. Perhaps they needed clear instructions to be most effective, for they were also trained to not think very much for themselves. And they might bicker amongst themselves, but they would follow orders immediately if it came from someone ranked higher than they were. Not at all different in those ways from the gentle bukshah, who only needed to know who was the leader to be happy.
Realizing all of this brought a great feeling of comfort to Rowan's heart. If it held true, then Halek Barret was little different from Treasure or Star, or any other beast who had led the herd so wisely in the past. He was clearly a man of authority and sense, but also manners and kindness. He could be reasoned with. Whatever his actual rank was, the the rest of Central Control respected it enough to follow him without question.
All of this was good. Very good. Thank the heavens this man was here now to lead this trapped, frightened herd.
With a terrible grinding sound, the bars finally lifted up and slid out of the way. There was nothing separating the heroes from the prisoners, now, but the order to leave Rowan his space. In that moment, as the prisoners considered their newfound freedom, they seemed to understand the sense in staying put for a moment longer. There still wasn't much they could do, and many cells full of people who needed freeing, too. Instead of taking matters into their own hands, as they had plainly wanted to a moment ago, they waited to see what the doctor would command them to do next.
Cautiously, Halek Barret stepped out of the cell and faced Rowan squarely. Almost as an equal, but more as a willing subordinate, ready to be given orders and carry them out quickly and efficiently. Again, very like the herd in Rin. More and more, Rowan decided that he liked this man very much.
"Thank you for your help," he said, holding out his hand. "Is there anything else you can tell us about this dungeon?"
The doctor slowly reached for Rowan's hand and shook it firmly. "If anyone should be thanked for their help, it is you, my lord," he insisted evenly. "As for the dungeon, if you've managed to breach it in the first place, I doubt there is much I can tell you that you don't already know."
Rowan shrugged. "You live here. I don't."
The doctor also shrugged, silently admitting that it was a fair point.
"There are a number of switches throughout the dungeon," he said, holding his hands behind his back again. "They will open most, if not all the cells. I suspect you have passed them by, so far, not realizing what they are. If you don't mind my saying so, my lord, I don't expect western folk to know our wonders for what they are."
"I don't mind at all," Rowan insisted. "And you are right, we wouldn't know in the slightest. If you would tell us what to look for, we would sincerely appreciate it."
This time, Halek Barret allowed his smirk to grow until he was nearly grinning. "I must say, I've never enjoyed a conversation with a Titan quite so much before. The switches are set into the walls, outside the corridors. If you will come with me, I will show you."
As he led the party back the way they had come, he glanced into the cells as he passed them and announced in a loud voice, "The cells will be opened in a moment. As soon as you are able, I would have the whole lot of you come and join us in the main corridor. Be quick about it, and quiet, and do not crowd the lord Titan or his companions. That is an order!"
Again, looks of disappointment and immediate obedience. They took orders better than most people in Rin, who would have risen their voices to question that command and insist on their own way. It was suddenly hard to believe that they had been so terrified of the Zebak for so long.
As they emerged into the main corridor, the doctor turned sharply and gestured to a fixture in the wall. It was a metal plate with an orange stone set in the middle, sparkling in the dim light. It could have easily been glass, but Rowan could feel a faint, sturdy energy pulsing through it. The stone was precious, or at least semi-precious, and filled with purpose and power.
It certainly stands out, now that I see it, he thought to himself, glancing down the long hallway and seeing other winking spots of orange all the way along the walls. Even with all the commotion, how could I have missed it?
"Magicite technology is still a new marvel, even to us, but we have found all manner of clever ways to harness it," Halek Barret was explaining calmly. "This ones in this dungeon are all citrine – a sturdy Fire stone and good conductor, well-suited to be rigged as a switch for the cells here. Observe."
With great nonchalantness, he pressed the stone into its metal plate; and at once, the sound of the many bars in the hallway beyond could be heard lifting away with the same grinding sound of metal on stone. Slowly, a modest, bedraggled legion of men, women, and teenagers filed out of the shadows to join them. All of them were looking to the doctor and the four heroes for commands, and most were struggling valiantly to keep their hands to themselves.
Seeing this, the doctor fixed his spectacles and straightened his white coat, as if that were enough to arm for battle. "Good, here we are. The next course of action is plain as day: all of you, split up down this corridor, and begin hitting the switches. Hit them with all your might! Release the other prisoners, especially those who still have a voice to give commands. Use gestures for now to show them the switches, and have them do the same. It may be best, for now, not to let them know just who has released us in the first place; they must think on their own people, not on our rescuers. Let us act swiftly, while we may still walk unheard."
That small legion looked about itself, and they began to nod slowly in agreement. No doubt, they had disliked being robbed of their voices so rudely. But now that they heard it put that way, they must have understood that this unnatural silence could be used to their advantage. When their countrymen were freed from their cells, there would be no uproar to to bring guards running.
With a feeling that time was running out, Rowan decided that it was time to address these people directly.
"This silence won't last forever," he told them, in a firm, authoritative voice he never liked using. "We have less than an hour to pull it off, and I know that the cells deeper within the dungeon have not been affected." He held up his map for them to see. "There are three manholes throughout this maze – one near the center, and another two in the north-east and -westernmost corners. These are your escape routes. They lead below the city, into the sewers. It may not be pleasant, but it is the only way out. A few of you go to those manholes, and lead people out as they come along. And... I have one other request for you."
The people around him seemed to lean a little closer, waiting with baited breath for what command their hero had to give them. He took a deep breath, wondering how they would react to his next words.
"Somewhere in this dungeon are several of our own people. A woman, three young ladies, and a young man. They've been working closely with the rebellion's leaders these last few years. Does anyone know them?"
At once, nearly every marked face came alive with interest and eagerness. One of them, a girl who couldn't be much younger than Star, dared to come forward to gently tug on his sleeve and nod excitedly. The look on her face seemed to say that she knew them well, and had perhaps worried over them in the night. He placed his hand over hers, and tears of wonder and joy filled her pale green eyes.
"See if you can find them," he pleaded. "Keep your eyes and ears open for them, at least. If you come across them, do your best to let them know we are here. They would find us on their own after that, I think."
"An excellent command, my lord," the doctor agreed, clearly touched despite his firm, professional voice. "We will have it all done at once, as you have requested. Is there anything else you require of us?"
Rowan shook his head. "Just that you do it to the best of your abilities. The four of us have a mission of our own, in the dungeon's deepest cells. The rebel leaders are far too important to be kept anywhere else, I think; and I suspect more and more that my wife and daughter will be there, also."
Beside him, Allun huffed and crossed his arms. "I daresay, if they were being held anywhere else, your little jailbreak would have started ages ago. Zeel would have rallied the troops to action at once, and Star has the Earth Sigil. No ordinary prison could hold them; but these switches can't be the only trick this dungeon has to offer."
The doctor shook his head. "To be certain, my lord. There are many places here guarded with stronger magic, to hold stronger prisoners. Such force alone could not undo it. But with a helping hand from outside..."
"Then I will follow my heart to those places and search them," Rowan said resolutely, glad of the warning. "In that case, that is all there needs to be. Let us begin."
"As you wish, my lord," the doctor agreed, waving his hand at the gathering. Without hesitation, those people darted off down the corridor, pressing the switches and summoning the released prisoners out. Several others ran through the hallway and disappeared, hopefully to seek out the manholes. In short seconds, only Halek Barret was left. Wondering a bit, Rowan saw that the girl who had tugged his sleeve before had also stayed. But the look on her face was one of eager determination, and he decided to be glad of her help.
That seemed to settle that. He pulled his remaining companions close around the map and held it up for them to see.
"We have our own tasks in all this, of course. Do we have any question for the doctor before we go?"
"I have one," Allun said at once, taking the map in his own hands and puzzling over it. "Is there an armory marked on this? The rebels might like to be armed, before making their grand escape. They won't last long against the gray monsters, otherwise."
"I see no such place labeled here," the doctor said thoughtfully, stroking his chin as he looked it over. "All the same, I know where it is. With this very useful map, I can show you the way. Arming our good rebels as best we can will, indeed, be wise."
The silent girl began nodding excitedly, looking pleased to be armed again. She appeared to want to accompany the doctor, and thank goodness. Even if he had a map and knew the way, the thick lenses of his spectacles were badly cracked. The way he kept fiddling with them, squinting through the cracks, proved that he could barely see, with or without them. He needed a steady guide as much as the rest of them did.
Rowan felt John's large hand clamp impatiently on his shoulder, and he found the man staring at him severely. Silently asking if arming their enemies was so wise, after all. It was amazing how irritatingly suspicious he could be, even without a voice. Rowan shrugged him off, snatched the map back, and handed it to the doctor.
"Follow our friend to the armory, then, and see about getting some swords handed out," he told the man, more forcefully than he could help. "Doubtless, you'll meet Alanis there eventually. She will prefer to be greeted with a sword being pushed into her hands."
That did just the trick, as he had hoped. His whole focus from the beginning had been to find his own daughter, hoping against hope that she had survived capture and imprisonment. It was difficult to think of her trapped here in this dungeon, languishing in a cell with no way to defend herself. If she was alive, if she could be freed, an armory was the first place she would look for.
John plainly still had his doubts about it all, but the idea of being there to greet his child with his own sword had put a spark of hope back in his eyes.
"I will go to the armory, also," Allun decided. "If these people liked my parts in the tales so much, it might cheer them to see me passing things around. Besides, it will suit me better to be organizing things than running around and getting lost."
And to keep John out of trouble, he thankfully hadn't added. The doctor and the silent girl seemed to wonder about it, but they certainly didn't protest. That made yet another party of four, then.
"But, my lord," the doctor commented, "you speak as though you will be going off without your only map. How will you find your way? Perhaps it would be best if you remain with us, for a time. I assure you, I can find those deeper cells in no time."
"I don't doubt that in the slightest," Rowan answered, smiling his thanks as he reached under his shirt collar. "But this is one thing I need to do on my own."
From its hiding place under his clothes, he pulled a very ordinary looking object. It was a simple, plaited cord of faded yellow silk, carrying a tiny reed pipe. Halek Barret squinted at it, not understanding and unable to see it properly. But the silent girl gasped in amazement, plainly recognizing it from stories and knowing exactly what it was. Seeing this, Rowan looked down at her and smiled.
"My wife has one, too," he explained. "We've both been trained to hear them. If I call to her, she will hear me no matter where she is; and if she still has hers, she will answer. I will as I said, I will follow my heart. I will follow it, whatever may be between us."
He had never needed to use the little pipe before. All the times in the past when he might have done so, he had let pass him by, foolishly trying to protect his beloved friend from dangerous journeys. And so, with a great feeling of destiny, he lifted the pipe to his lips and gently blew it for the very first time.
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On the other end of the dungeon, what remained of squad C-57 still huddled in miserable silence. It was still impossible to tell how much time had passed. It could have been days, if it had been hours. All they knew for sure was that the whole of Central Control couldn't be lost just yet, because the ten of them were clearly being saved for last.
All talk had stopped ages ago, it seemed. They had all spoken halfheartedly at first of regrets, abandoned hopes and dreams, and even apologies. In those first hours, Star suddenly found herself learning all manner of things about the people she thought she knew so well. Zhena had always had a soft spot for children, and never having the chance to be a mother had nearly brought her to tears. Zack Rivan had admitted to a gambling problem he had hidden from his friends for years, and that he had in fact won his ruined costume in a very risky bet. Zirita had dreamed of being a singer as a small child, much the same as June Barsa had dreamed of being a dancer. Zak had finally confessed in plain words that he had fallen in love with Leah, and had wished that he could have told her properly.
Star had wondered what Zamiel might have added, if only he could speak. Robbed of his voice, he had remained completely still, with his gaze locked on the floor, as if he couldn't hear, either. No doubt, he was thinking of his younger brothers, and all the things he might have done to save them.
None of that talk had cheered anyone, and so it had been abandoned and replaced with the silence. Star supposed they all slept and woke, slept and woke, as she had done. There was little else they could do, while they waited for the end.
All at once, Star felt her mother's dozing form stir beside her. It was gentle at first, as if she had been disturbed from a dream. Then Zeel sat bolt upright, nearly knocking Star over. She was looking all around, as if searching for something. In the dimness, her face was a mask of shock and disbelief.
"I... I could have sworn I heard..."
She climbed to her feet, still peering around for something she couldn't see. For a moment, she fiddled with her wedding ring, looking terribly unsure. Star watched in puzzlement as her mother hesitated, then reached for something around her neck.
Her wedding necklace, made from the kite of her youth and a plain reed pipe. She stared at it with terrible longing, and a desperate hope.
"But it can't be..."
In the other cells, the squad had noticed her behavior and were calling out to her, asking what was wrong. Zeel didn't seem to hear them. She hesitated only a second longer, before raising the pipe to her lips and blowing it gently with what seemed to be all her courage.
It made no sound that Star could hear, and she wondered furiously what had gotten into her mother. Their friends still calling her name, asking what on earth was the matter, what she was doing, and why. Impatiently, Zeel held up her hand to silence them.
"Hush, please," she told them. "I need to hear..."
Perhaps they wondered if she was beginning to crack. They did as she asked, and for a moment it was quiet again. Then, without warning, Zeel began to laugh. Laughing and weeping with joy, she fell to her knees and clutched the tiny pipe to her heart, babbling blessings and thanks.
Star was alarmed by it all. Maybe the pain and loss and despair of the night really had begun to drive her mother mad. Frightened by the idea, Star crept closer and reached for her hand.
"Mum, what is it?" she begged. "What's wrong? What's happened?"
Zeel turned to face her a grin that seemed to light up the dimness. And her eyes were shining with a hope that had flared back to life.
"Your father is here," she said, brushing her wet face. As if it proved everything, she held up her necklace.
"He is here, looking for us, and I will lead him."
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Afterthoughts...
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I moved out. My workload increased to ludicrous speed. My boss up and quit. I got really sick. I bought a new car. My computer decided to not work for a while. I turned 26. I cried a lot about student loans.
Hopefully, that all explains why this update is so freaking far behind. If I'm not working for 12 hours straight these days, I'm vegged out on the couch, watching anime, because I have no brain space left to be creative. Its all sucked, especially since I pretty much stalled out on page 11 out of 14, and spent the last three months only finding the gumption to write a sentence or two at a time. Very frustrating, considering all the fun times I had to squeeze into it.
And I assume that the looming summertime will be about the same. But it doesn't look like anyone will spend it dying slowly, so I'm looking forward to that. Of course, I will attempt to update regularly from now on, but... Eh. I'll be working 12 hours at a time and coming home to collapse for the foreseeable future, so I'll certainly try.
On the upshot, having my own HOUSE to come home to and collapse in is great! Its just a small duplex, but brother and I are happy here and plan to stay for the next few years, if we can. We bought a massive TV, I planted a raised garden, and I even bought a spin dryer. So proud of my little home...! 8D
