“I suppose,” Tharrin admits, though he still sounds nervous and uncertain.
With only a couple of cells opposite in sight, I can only make out a few of the survivors. It only now occurs to me that when marching towards the colony I hadn’t been able to spot Arys or any of his friends in chains. They must have been on the other raft, floating away whilst his brother and the sage lifted the wood above their heads to protect their own group from the incoming arrows.
My heart aches for Tharrin, I know how it feels to be separated from family. Whilst Astera’s words may calm him a little they won’t do much about the incoming tide of worry coursing through him. Tharrin confided in me on our travels that it is just he and Arys left, their parents both lost in the Great Fire. Astera is right, there are few more trustworthy than Jaq and Ryfon, much like Arthur, but that comfort will seem insignificant in filling the pit in his heart.
Eventually, Horas moves nearer the bars, back against the wall that we share with his sister and Tharrin. The cheek that the guard hit faces me, it’s already swollen below the eye and flickering light reflects off its surface. He quietly joins in the effort to put Tharrin’s mind at ease, eventually beginning to steer the conversation in a different direction. With nothing to distract us down here it would be far too easy for Tharrin or myself to drive ourselves crazy with our anxiety. I admire the subtlety with which Horas talks, softly diverting the worries towards a story of how Jaq once caught him sneaking off with a girl one night. Astera crudely feigns retching before leaving the two young men to themselves, unwilling to be awakened to the details of her twin’s love life.
Realising I should probably mimic Horas’ intentions, I bring my mother over to her cell door and begin describing the beauty of the world I saw in my travels. I describe the snow tipped peaks that brushed the clouds, hiding their networks of never-ending caves and tunnels disappearing further and further into the ground. I talk of the grasslands, with their marshes and swamps and the vast untouched stretches far away from any villages. Finally, I illustrate the beach for her, with its infinite field of water and the almost liquid gold that runs between your toes. Each scene swims so clearly before me, each such an integral part of the journey that has led me to where I am now. They paint a trail away from the familiarity of Avlym and into the unknown.
I wonder how much more of the world there must be left to discover. Does the ocean continue forever or is it merely an unthinkably huge lake with land on the other side? What would that land be like? Are there people there? Do they have villages like we do? Is there another colony or do they all live in harmony?
The more I talk the further we put between ourselves and the cells. We are no longer in the underbelly of the colony but rather we are birds, soaring over the magnificence of the world below us. The stone gives way to rolling meadows, the bars to endless oceans and forests, and the low ceiling to the clouds and the open air.
Orrian returns perhaps a couple of hours later, he glances at me questioningly as I almost ignore him, searching over his shoulder for any signs of Damion. Unfortunately, Orrian is only accompanied by the warden and a couple of guards, it clearly wasn’t worth the prince’s time to accompany him back to his cell.
Resigning to the fact that I’ll have to wait before I can unleash my flurry of questions upon Damion, I finally move away from the bars to greet the young king. Horas is already by Orrian’s side and asking the questions on everyone’s mind.
“Are you ok? Where did they take you? What happened?” Horas asks without pausing for breath.
Orrian grunts as he slowly lowers himself to sit leaning against the wall, the sound of cracking knees reverberating around the stone. He winces as the movement breaks new scabs and more blood oozes from several crimson ravines in his chest.
“They took me to King Breyden, he’s demanding that I give up my birthright and kneel to his crown,” spits Orrian.
Around us the tribespeople mutter angrily, joining the furious banging against the bars from our eavesdroppers in nearby cells. Tharrin and Astera’s bodiless shouts of complaint join the others from the cell next to us.
“They want me to accept the offer that my father refused. They’ll leave us to ourselves so long as we start providing for them. There’s more, they demand we pay extra for the trouble we’ve caused them. They will also take our children as and when they please so that they may work here under their rule,” Orrian’s head sags in defeat. “If I don’t agree to their terms before the next full moon, they’re going to start executing us until I agree or am the last one left. In which case my head will be put on a spike above the ramparts as a warning.”
The protests have been stifled into a deafening silence. Horas and the other tribespeople in the room look down at their king, comprehension of their situation suddenly dawning. From their creased brows and lowered jaws, they seem to be genuinely surprised by the news, as if they were expecting different from the colony. Perhaps they were awaiting their certain execution, not expecting the option to forfeit their pride in return for their physical freedom.
The air solidifies in my throat as the final term of Orrian’s offer dawns on me. The ground tilts beneath my feet and I slam a wavering palm against the stone
