stone doorway scraped open again.
“ Unusual.”
“ She’s lying.”
“ Do you suppose she has
anything to do with him?”
“ I don’t know, but I
suspect she does.”
“ I suppose we must break
her. Summon…”
I couldn’t hear what else was said. As the
door shut, the draft extinguished the candle.
* * *
The next thing I knew I was back in my cell,
lying crumpled in the corner. My head screamed with pain, and my
mouth still tasted like blood. For a few minutes I lay quietly,
trying to calm my breathing and gather my thoughts. They swam
around in my mind in muddled confusion, snatches of worries and
fears that I couldn’t catch and comprehend. Yatol. Ungulion. Summon
what?
I propped myself up on my elbow, pulling
strands of hair from my sticky mouth. Had they summoned it,
whatever it was? Did I give them information? Think,
Merelin. But I couldn’t remember anything after the candle went
out.
“ Merelin!”
Yatol? His voice sounded weak, a bare rasp
in the silence. I crawled over to the wall, resting my forehead
against the stone.
“ I’m here,” I said when I
managed to find my voice.
“ Are you hurt? Are you all
right?”
I just wanted to curl up in bed with my head
under the pillow and try to make sense of the pain. I couldn’t tell
him that, though. I couldn’t answer at all. After a moment I felt
little vibrations in the wall as he began pulling away the chunks
of stone on the other side.
“ Yatol, they were going to
summon something.”
My voice quavered, pathetic.
“ Azik,” Yatol said. “The
Breaker.”
That didn’t sound good.
“ I think I fainted. I don’t
know if I told him anything.”
“ He hasn’t arrived
yet.”
“ How do you
know?”
The long silence made me nervous, then
finally he said, “You wouldn’t be here now if you’d seen him.”
“ Have you ever seen
him?”
He didn’t answer. After a moment the
scraping of rock resumed, and I forced my hands to make an effort
at helping him. The first chunk of rock dislodged Pyelthan. I
caught it before it hit the floor, wrapping my fingers gratefully
around the cool circle before tucking it back into my pocket.
Leaving it behind, unguarded, had been a huge risk. It had worked
out fine – in fact I was pretty sure I’d been right to hide it.
Somehow I think they had been looking for it, when the one Ungulion
asked the other if I’d had anything interesting on me.
“ Yatol, is the Ungulion
going to come back?”
“ No. Another will pass in a
few hours to check on us, but by then…”
His voice died and we worked in silence.
Once we had cleared the gap I slithered carefully through on my
elbows. On the other side I stayed in a crouch, not trusting my
shaking legs to stand. Yatol had gone back to sit against the outer
wall by the window, the straws piled beside him. He wouldn’t look
at me, but focused intensely on his work. Somehow he was braiding
the straw into a tight, thin rope. I couldn’t believe that the
moldy wisps didn’t disintegrate as he twisted them. His hands moved
deftly, quickly, coiling the lengthening rope as he worked.
But I couldn’t focus on his hands. I only
saw the bruises and inflamed gashes on his arms, the streaks of
blood dried brown on his shirt and the patches of bright glossy red
where he had reopened some wound. I stared at the blood still
oozing from the abrasions on his brow, and I winced. Blood didn’t
usually make me queasy, but the look of his face did. I couldn’t
say why. There didn’t seem to be an inch of him that was
uninjured.
For a solid two minutes I stood staring,
afraid to go near him. I wondered what had happened to him.
Apparently a lot more than had happened to me – besides bruises on
my wrists and a swollen cheek, I couldn’t tell that I’d been hurt
at all. But Yatol worked calmly enough, as if he were oblivious to
the wounds that covered him. His indifference finally reassured me,
and I crouched beside him to touch the rope.
“ What are
“ Unusual.”
“ She’s lying.”
“ Do you suppose she has
anything to do with him?”
“ I don’t know, but I
suspect she does.”
“ I suppose we must break
her. Summon…”
I couldn’t hear what else was said. As the
door shut, the draft extinguished the candle.
* * *
The next thing I knew I was back in my cell,
lying crumpled in the corner. My head screamed with pain, and my
mouth still tasted like blood. For a few minutes I lay quietly,
trying to calm my breathing and gather my thoughts. They swam
around in my mind in muddled confusion, snatches of worries and
fears that I couldn’t catch and comprehend. Yatol. Ungulion. Summon
what?
I propped myself up on my elbow, pulling
strands of hair from my sticky mouth. Had they summoned it,
whatever it was? Did I give them information? Think,
Merelin. But I couldn’t remember anything after the candle went
out.
“ Merelin!”
Yatol? His voice sounded weak, a bare rasp
in the silence. I crawled over to the wall, resting my forehead
against the stone.
“ I’m here,” I said when I
managed to find my voice.
“ Are you hurt? Are you all
right?”
I just wanted to curl up in bed with my head
under the pillow and try to make sense of the pain. I couldn’t tell
him that, though. I couldn’t answer at all. After a moment I felt
little vibrations in the wall as he began pulling away the chunks
of stone on the other side.
“ Yatol, they were going to
summon something.”
My voice quavered, pathetic.
“ Azik,” Yatol said. “The
Breaker.”
That didn’t sound good.
“ I think I fainted. I don’t
know if I told him anything.”
“ He hasn’t arrived
yet.”
“ How do you
know?”
The long silence made me nervous, then
finally he said, “You wouldn’t be here now if you’d seen him.”
“ Have you ever seen
him?”
He didn’t answer. After a moment the
scraping of rock resumed, and I forced my hands to make an effort
at helping him. The first chunk of rock dislodged Pyelthan. I
caught it before it hit the floor, wrapping my fingers gratefully
around the cool circle before tucking it back into my pocket.
Leaving it behind, unguarded, had been a huge risk. It had worked
out fine – in fact I was pretty sure I’d been right to hide it.
Somehow I think they had been looking for it, when the one Ungulion
asked the other if I’d had anything interesting on me.
“ Yatol, is the Ungulion
going to come back?”
“ No. Another will pass in a
few hours to check on us, but by then…”
His voice died and we worked in silence.
Once we had cleared the gap I slithered carefully through on my
elbows. On the other side I stayed in a crouch, not trusting my
shaking legs to stand. Yatol had gone back to sit against the outer
wall by the window, the straws piled beside him. He wouldn’t look
at me, but focused intensely on his work. Somehow he was braiding
the straw into a tight, thin rope. I couldn’t believe that the
moldy wisps didn’t disintegrate as he twisted them. His hands moved
deftly, quickly, coiling the lengthening rope as he worked.
But I couldn’t focus on his hands. I only
saw the bruises and inflamed gashes on his arms, the streaks of
blood dried brown on his shirt and the patches of bright glossy red
where he had reopened some wound. I stared at the blood still
oozing from the abrasions on his brow, and I winced. Blood didn’t
usually make me queasy, but the look of his face did. I couldn’t
say why. There didn’t seem to be an inch of him that was
uninjured.
For a solid two minutes I stood staring,
afraid to go near him. I wondered what had happened to him.
Apparently a lot more than had happened to me – besides bruises on
my wrists and a swollen cheek, I couldn’t tell that I’d been hurt
at all. But Yatol worked calmly enough, as if he were oblivious to
the wounds that covered him. His indifference finally reassured me,
and I crouched beside him to touch the rope.
“ What are
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