She leafed through the stack and pulled out a more detailed map. The word Verutith was written over the landmass.
“Verutith is a word from the archaic elven language. It was the name given to this island centuries ago. Do you know what this word means?” she asked.
“No,” I answered. “I’m not very familiar with the old language.”
“In the ancient dialect, verus means blood, and otith is a sacrifice.”
“‘Blood sacrifice’? Why would it be called by that name?” I asked.
“I—I don’t know.” Her eyes darted from mine. “Elves are very guarded with their knowledge. Only a few are instructed in the old language and of our history before the Uniting.”
She knew something, but she didn’t want to tell me. I couldn’t let her dodge the subject; I had to know more about that island. If it was to be the bloom’s final resting place, which I was beginning to suspect it was, then I had to be prepared for whatever lay ahead.
“But as a member of the royal house, weren’t you instructed in the old ways?”
She swallowed. “I was, when I was much younger.”
“Then do you know why the island is called by that name?”
“I only have theories. As I said, elven knowledge is very guarded.”
“What are your theories?”
She gave me a shrewd look as her voice dropped to a whisper. “Will you be careful with what I tell you?”
I nodded.
She seemed to debate whether to tell me before she spoke up. “Do you know of the first elven king, Pa’horan?”
“Pa’horan—he united the elves?”
“Yes. Most are taught of Pa’horan and his reign—of how he first united the elves—but they are not taught everything. In those days, elves were bloodthirsty. War was a way of life, and it nearly drove our people into extinction. Pa’horan was adamant that war be stopped at any cost. He forbade violence of any sort. Laws were put into place that ensured his wishes were carried through—laws that still exist today. Although, it seems some of his original decrees are in danger of being modified.”
“Modified how?”
She hesitated. “There are some who think certain acts of violence should be tolerated.”
“What sort of violence?”
“It’s a specific sort of torture called the voic-py’anah. It’s a method that inflicts pain on a person’s magical psyche. It is considered the worst pain that can be experienced by anyone who possesses magical powers because the torture utilizes all forms of pain—mental, physical, and spiritual. Most who experience this torture do not survive, and if they do, they no longer resemble the person they once were.
“There are some who wish this torture to be legalized—and they are willing to go to great lengths to make this happen.”
“But why would anyone wish to legalize torture?”
“Can you not think of a reason?”
My thoughts brought me to Earth’s history. There had been times when torture had been accepted. An image came to mind—a picture I’d seen in a library book about concentration camps. I still couldn’t forget that image. It was a black-and-white photo of a man sitting on a worn mattress. His face was so sunken and his bones protruded so badly that I wasn’t sure how he was still alive. The Nazis had done that to him to make a better, purer race—and they weren’t the only ones to have those same ideals. White slavers, Irish immigrants, Egyptians, Israelites—the list went on and on.
My stomach sickened. “Yes,” I said quietly, “I guess I can understand, because it happened on Earth.”
“For what reasons?” she asked.
“None,” I answered. “At least, not any that count. There’s never a good reason to put yourself above someone else—to think you’re better than others—to think you have the power to dominate, or torture, or kill because your life somehow matters more. It’s the corruption of human nature—it’s evil.”
“Yes,” the princess agreed, “but there are some—many, actually—who disagree. There are those who believe they see the future with more clarity than others. They seek to make our world a better, more habitable place, a safe haven for our descendants. Some believe that an ideal world can only be achieved through the eradication of the lesser species.”
I eyed her. “It almost sounds as if you agree with that sentiment.”
“Of course not. I only relate to you what has been told to me. Besides, it is of little consequence what I believe.” She turned back to the map.
I wasn’t thrilled with her answer. What did she believe?
“It is rumored that the voic-py’anah was once practiced on Verutith.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. It is quite possible that we are traveling to a magical epicenter, and that labyrinth is at the center of it.”
I mulled over her statement, recalling a conversation I’d had with Fan’twar. “My stepfather once told me that there is a secret, powerful magic on the outer islands, and there are only a few places in Faythander where such places exist. Do you believe this magic exists on Verutith?”
“Yes, I am almost certain of it. Which also makes me fearful. As you know, the torture cannot be performed without magic, which means that magic must be restored for the torture to continue. Geth,” she said, “seeks to bring goblins out of obscurity. He hates elves. He may be interested in restoring the torture so that he can eradicate our species.”
“Geth?” I questioned her. “But if that’s true, why would he destroy the magic in the first place?”
Euralysia’s eyes darkened. “Geth is a Spellweaver, and he is also a goblin, which means that his path will always be clouded. However, his intentions are clear. He wishes for elves to suffer, and that is why he will seek to restore the torture.”
Judging by her and my father’s state of health, it looked like Geth was already doing a good job of it—but I feared what more he had in store. It seemed as if he were taking an eye for an eye. The elves had tortured goblins, and now he would turn the tables.
