Stephen Lawhead - The Realms Thereunder

They all mingled into a single overpowering aroma that made Daniel’s mouth water and sent a sharp pain to his stomach, which had only had fruit and nuts for the last, to him, weeks, and now demanded something weightier.

With a regretful swallow, Daniel pressed on. He had to step to one side as a bevy of Elfin servers pushed past him, carrying wide platters of fresh fruit smothered in a dark syrupy sauce. Sighing inwardly Daniel turned to the right and entered a narrow corridor made up of the wooden wall of the feast hall and the canvas tent of the kitchens. This led to the flimsy wooden shack that served as a toilet for the revelers. It was nothing more than two long trough-like pits with a short, narrow, but sturdy bench-like railing before them. At full capacity, it could probably accommodate five on each side-ten altogether.

Daniel walked the length of this building where a disgusting stink that completely eradicated the pleasant odors of just a few moments ago hung like a mist and pushed against the far wall, which as Lokkich had assured him came apart at one end, just enough for him to squeeze through. He did this and found himself between the wooden wall of the latrine and the cloth of the tent around it. It was dark, damp, and smelled completely foul. Crouching, he tried as hard as he could to separate his mind from his circumstances and waited.

It was torture. The longer he stayed, the hotter and stuffier the tiny sliver of space became. He heard the feast start, as if from a great distance. The faint notes of a trumpet announcing the arrival of the prince and other nobles reached him, trickling like birdsong. There was a pause, a cheer, and then music, lovely and haunting, but which came to him in scraps and pieces. His mind tried to fill in images to match what he was hearing, but Daniel knew it was inadequate to whatever spectacles were being performed by the Elfin feasters.

Daniel pulled the gun from the leather pouch and held it before him, checking its mechanism every once in a while. It was at least an hour before anyone came into the privy to relieve themselves. Daniel had arranged himself to lie near a convenient crack, which allowed him to see the whole stretch of the room by moving his head with a very minute motion.

His hands had become sweaty holding the gun, so he placed it before him, constantly rejecting the almost constant impulse to check and reload it. He had no idea how old it was, though it seemed in good shape. Either it would work, or it wouldn’t.

It had grown dark outside and a chill was creeping in. Daniel pulled his cloak even tighter around himself. It was quite dark, and Daniel wasn’t sure if he would recognise Agrid Fiall when he appeared. He didn’t know what would happen if he didn’t at least try to fulfill his mission.

A shadow appeared in the doorway and uttered a disgusted oath. It raised its voice and demanded that a light be brought. A servant appeared with a lit lantern, illuminating the face of the self-important moneylender and treasurer. Daniel felt his pulse quicken as he lifted the gun-was it heavier than it used to be?

It was certainly warmer-and rose silently. He shifted along the wall with stiff and aching limbs so that he was near the crack in the walls that he had entered by. He wrapped the fingers of his left hand around the wooden edge and gently pulled it wider. He stuck his right arm through and brought it up until he had dead aim on his target over a distance of about a meter. Practically point blank.

Daniel waited until Fiall had finished and turned his back, presenting a wider target. Daniel took a deep breath, paused for a heartbeat’s time to make sure of his aim, and squeezed the trigger.

The gun exploded and kicked in his hand. Fiall twitched slightly and stood stunned. Daniel pulled the trigger three more times and the form slumped to the ground. He didn’t know what it took to kill an elf, but he was pretty sure that the steel in the bullets would be toxic, if the wounds didn’t kill him outright.

Daniel drew his sword and stuck it in the fabric of the tent.

He jerked it down to rip a hole from head to knee and started to climb through it.

There was a shout from behind him and he saw another figure in the doorway, slightly hunched over the body of Agrid Fiall. Daniel raised his gun once more, sent the remaining bullets towards the silhouette, and escaped into the night.

Freya used the smaller side roads to move her way farther up into North Oxford. It was a winding, snaking path, but one that she thought would be hard to follow. She was banking on the hope that Felix hadn’t been able to get out of the house fast enough to see which direction she’d gone. And so, tired and exhausted, she staggered past houses and parked cars-as well as people who duly ignored her-towards the place she had last seen Daniel, at St. Michael and All Angels Church. But she couldn’t go there yet.

She limped into Summertown-little more than a busy hotspot of shops and restaurants along Banbury Road and a complex maze of terraced housing. She found herself wearing her jacket when she left Stowe’s apartment, and in her pockets she found her cell phone and small purse that she kept her money and bank cards in-they must have been on her all along. She couldn’t turn on her phone; its battery was probably dead. She thought to go to her apartment, but was afraid that Stowe would find her there-or worse, on the way there. She knew that she should go to the police, but she didn’t know what would become of Daniel then. She had to at least make an attempt to rescue him. Then she would go to the authorities. If it really had been days that she’d been trapped, then there’d be another panic. She may have already made the media again-missing for the second time would certainly have a headline appeal.

Her clothes were dirty and smelly and her hair was an absolute disaster. She hoped that she didn’t look so alarming that she would get thrown out of anyplace. She dug around in her purse for a ten-pound note and held it clearly visible before her as she walked into a small cafe. She put the money on the counter in front of her and ordered a baguette, some fruit, a packet of crisps, a coffee, and a bottle of juice. She took this food to a small table from which she could see the street without being seen.

She devoured her food as calmly and as slowly as possible under the circumstances, and waited. She got up to use the toilet a couple times, cleaning herself up as much as she was able to in the small sink and mirror, always returning to her table and keeping an eye on the street and the sky. She spent enough money to stop the staff from moving her on, gradually nourishing herself. She may not have eaten anything in days. It was vitally important that she didn’t collapse. She needed to keep it together just a little longer.

At six o’clock a cautious waitress came over and told her the cafe was closing. Freya left and wandered the back ways and parking lots of Summertown until the sun was just about to set. Then, with her heart rising in her chest, she went to the church.

She stood outside the lych-gate. This is where Daniel had disappeared-she could still see him taking that first step into oblivion. She stared at the wooden frame and doorway and wondered what she had to do next. She wanted to bring Daniel back, not follow after him-but could she do that? And how?

There was a new feeling growing in her chest. It wasn’t anticipation or nervousness-it was more like a charge that she was getting from the air. Something was happening. There was some sort of a . . . presence was the only way to describe it. Was it danger? She looked up and down the street. She was completely alone.

But, turning back to the lych-gate, she noticed something odd-it was darker inside of it than outside. She tilted her head so that the sky was visible through it and saw that not only was it darker, but whereas her sky was cloudy and overcast, she could see stars through the lych-gate.