CHAPTER 54

When I walk out of the basement, many hours after I went in, my body feels as heavy as lead and I cannot lift my arms above my shoulders. Every step up the stairs is agony – sweet agony, and good pain, but no less painful for that.

Amelia worked me to the bone. I ran, I jumped, I lifted heavy weights as best as I could single-handed while she barked order after order and my head swam from the effort. When she finally released me to go tend to the people upstairs, my body was a wreck.

I mount the final step and Amelia nods at me before closing the door and locking it.

“I’ll have a meal ready in a while. Why don’t you go wash and rest?”

In the grand entrance, morning has given way to afternoon. Through tall windows I see the courtyard blazing with midday light.

“Or go for a walk,” Amelia adds.

“Can I?” I ask.

“Surprised? Thought Lord Lysander was going to chain you in the catacombs and lash you until you won him games?”

“Well…”

“Some do, I have no doubt.” Amelia releases her hair from its pins and lets it fall in a cascade of black around her strong face. “But the lord is different from that lot. He’s got plans. You’ll see.”

“How did you come to work for him? Was it before or after you became a Champion?”

Amelia shakes her head with a fugitive smile.

“Another time, Malco. Now mind your feet outside and keep out of the forest.”

Before I can ask why, Amelia bustles off, muttering to herself. The sound of her slippers soon fades in the large hallways, and, soon enough, the clatter of pots and pans replaces it.

I let myself stand there for a moment, tired but strangely content. Just a little while ago, I felt this same tiredness at the end of every day spent working in Mago’s stables, planning my breakout to go in search of Katha. I wish I had my map now, the large, many-colored one Dala offered me all those years ago…

The memory of my mother comes unbidden, crashing into the afternoon peace. I wonder what she’s doing now. If Medrein is back in Reach, if they managed to find comfort in each other.

I’ll go back some day, I think. After Katha, and after Rev, and after we’ve seen how far the world goes. We’ll all visit.

I step outside. At first to test the limits of my freedom, and then because the touch of the sun on my face feels too good to simply ignore. I wander into the middle of the courtyard, feeling like the house stretches out its arms in an attempt to keep me in. The large tree sits in the middle, taller than the mansion and sitting high on a labyrinth of roots, an old giant of yore surrounded by modernity. Under and between the roots, shadows lie. It’s hard not to look at them and think of the monsters Amelia… summoned, like the Godtouched said?

Hmm.

I’ve heard of necromancers, of course. Dark Lord Obrein was famed to be one himself. But those things in the night, the living shadows; could they be just corpses twisted by fancy? I remember the oily darkness too well, the living night breaking like waves on the island of light thrown by torch. There’s something else there.

A cautious wide berth around the tree brings me in sight of the stables, where a man is filling a large trough with water. Instinctively, I hang back for a moment until the man turns to refill his bucket, and then pass while he’s distracted. The impulse is slightly off-putting to me. I was never one for skulking until I was forced to.

I suspect what it is. The reason why I’ve been paying more attention to details recently, to find a quick way to victory against Amelia and her dead man, and now why I make a point to pass unseen, to place my feet carefully, to take to shadows and distance. It’s Observant, Dirty Fighter, Sneaky. They aren’t just knowledge of those specific areas, how to look, how to fight, how to move, but they affect my behavior too. A good reason to be more careful about future choices, in any case.

I walk beyond the house’s outstretched wings to find the forest I saw yesterday surrounds it on all sides. The trees are closely packed, dense as market day in Reach, and the thin spears of light that make it through the canopy serve only to accentuate the darkness within. I realize that no one followed me here, to the edge of the woods. If I were to step inside, any watchers keeping tabs from behind the mansion’s windows would lose sight of me in seconds. The next moment, I realize I have no idea where I am. Lysander could have transported me halfway across the world into places so far away they don’t even show up on my map back home.

Is that Lysander’s prison? My ignorance?

I draw a slow circle around the house, following the line of the trees until I step on the road that leads up from the forest. One way, the house bakes in the grey sun that breaks through the overcast sky. The other, the road winds and the trees beckon, urging me to decide now. The more I stare into them the more my feet itch, edging me forward and away from the elf’s machinations.

Before I can decide, a noise comes above the swaying of leaves and the creaking of boughs. Hooves on dirt and stone. I step away from the road and approach the treeline to stand immobile in the shadow of a dark oak.

Riders appear on the bend in the road. At the head, unmistakable in his armor, is Valkas’ captain of the guard, followed by four others I don’t recognize dressed in more common clothing. They pass by at a careful trot and fail to notice me.

Muscle isn’t with them. Amelia had said he was safe back in the keep but didn’t explained what she meant. I saw him get caught by the shadows and know Amelia didn’t release him. Before the Challenge, a lifetime ago, Medrein had also alluded to the Godtouched being immortal.

Too much that I don’t know.

I let the riders make their way into the mansion’s embrace before I step away from the tree. As I do, I feel a little resistance and look down to find I’d gotten my foot entwined in a vine without noticing. Strange. I pull myself free and step back, only to find myself stepping on more vines that I could swear weren’t there before. As I watch, they move, snaking under me, subtle but strong, reaching for the laces in my boots, making me yelp and dance in place to a mad beat.

When I put distance between myself and the trees, the vines stop their snaking. I watch them warily as they retreat, coiling themselves around roots and trunks, and feel on every pore the suddenly malevolent gaze of the forest. In the distance, between the trees, I spy movement, the impression of a shape, there and gone.

Feeling watched, and casting darting looks over my shoulder, I walk back to the house, thinking the walls of this prison are more complete than I thought.

*

“There you are. Sit down. Eat.”

Amelia points to a seat next to Gedden, who faces Delos. Both watch me sit, the smile on the dark-skinned Godtouched’s lips playing a nice contrast to the elf’s scowl.

“Amelia was just telling us about your first session,” Gedden says. “First time fighting a corpse, huh?”

“Yeah,” I say vaguely, dipping the spoon in the broth. It smells divine. In different circumstances, my mouth would be watering. I look to find Gedden’s expectant look. “Hum, yeah, I don’t have a lot of experience fighting.”

“That’s alright. I didn’t either when I came here…”

“Still don’t,” Delos says between spoons.

“…but you couldn’t ask for a better teacher,” Gedden finishes, unperturbed.

Amelia shakes her head and tells him to shush, which just makes his smile shine brighter. I revolve the broth, aware that I’m sitting at a table with Godtouched, sharing a meal just days after climbing out of their dungeon. Reality suddenly feels very distant and very strange.

“I saw the riders just now,” I say slowly. “When I was walking by the treeline.”

“Yeah, they’re up with the bossman now. He shouldn’t have sent us down. One of him and four of them, how’s that fair?”

Amelia sits down at the head of the table, giving Gedden a stern look.

“If Lord Lysander isn’t worried, you shouldn’t be, either.”

“Did you put guards up?” Delos asks, direct, his voice husky and full of gravel.

“You too?” Amelia says, annoyed. “The lord wants to meet them in private, safety be damned, and here you lot are doubting him. What a show of loyalty!”

Delos doesn’t seem shaken by the accusation. He munches on a piece of bread and waits.

“If you must know,” Amelia says finally. “I may have asked one or two nightmares to keep watch outside the study. Discreetly.”

The word makes me look up but doesn’t draw reactions from the rest of the assembly.

Is that what her shades are called? Nightmares?

“But it’s daytime,” Amelia sighs. “I dislike this as much as you do. We have our orders. All we can do is wait.”

No one answers her, and an uncomfortable silence stretches. It’s as good an opportunity as any.

“I was by the trees,” I say. “And I noticed the vines were acting weird. They reached for me.”

I expected either laughter, quizzical looks, or dismissal. I didn’t expect the expression on Amelia’s face.

“Godsdamn the troll,” she mutters. “Gedden, would you…?”

The Godtouched nods, and that’s that. Silence returns, each of the three sitting with me at the table retreating into their own thoughts without a word of explanation.

I’m struck by a particular feeling. Something from my old life, as familiar as the hills and the river and mist in the morning. It’s a feeling of being ignored, of existing on the periphery of the pressing and the important. When Medrein did it, because he was worried or engrossed in conversation with Rev, I took it as normal, as if my father’s dismissing attitude was a simple fact of existence. I feel myself retreating into my old role, accepting that I’m a child, an unimportant burden, and I feel it also when that attitude meets resistance.

You weren’t like this before, whispers my dungeon mind. Just a few short days ago you were bold and decisive, dealing in life and death, planning and plotting your way to victory.

“What did you mean, here?” I ask.

“What’s that?”

“You said ‘when I came here’,” I turn to Gedden. “What did you mean?”

“Malco, eat your meal,” Amelia says curtly.

I turn to face her furrowed brow and tightly-drawn lips, an expression so common in her face it has molded the skin around itself over the years. I observe her anger, her annoyance, and then let it all slide off me like wind. I face Gedden instead.

“Malco—”

“Amelia,” I interrupt, a note of annoyance in my voice. “Please. I’m speaking to Gedden.”

The moment hangs in the air, thin as a slick knife. Amelia opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. Delos looks amused, eyes flitting between us.

“Ah, what’s the harm,” Gedden says finally. “He either knows or he’ll find out soon enough. Do you know what I mean, Malco?”

As the conversation pivots to rest on me, I feel the chance of snagging a small victory from this. By imposing my question, I made myself noticed, more than a child. By hinting at an answer, Gedden suggests my claim to it might be acceptable, depending on what I know. His mirthful eyes focus on my face.

“I know part of it,” I say slowly. “I know you don’t mean the house. But you’re a Godtouched. You don’t need dungeons to gain levels and you don’t need to learn how to fight. Right?”

“Close enough,” he says. “No, I don’t mean the house. I mean here, this world. Ever met a baby Godtouched?”

“The world?”

“You’re dancing around the subject,” Delos interrupts, his muscular arms spreading across the table. “The kid wants to know. If you’re gonna say it, just say it.” His eyes land on me and stay there, cold yet interested. “He means we weren’t born, but came from elsewhere. All Godtouched, every single one, appeared on this world as we are, and picking up the levels your people had to scrounge for millennia.” He snaps his fingers. “Just like that.”