Michael Sullivan - Avempartha

She looked back at the brothers. Mauvin had his mouth open, struggling to clear something from a back tooth with his forefinger. Fanen had his head up looking at the sky. She was glad they were with her. It was a little bit of home in the wilderness and she imagined the smell of apples.

Arista and Alric had spent summer months at Drondil Fields to escape the heat of the city. She remembered how they used to climb the trees in the orchard outside the country castle and have apple fights in early autumn. The rotten apples would burst on the branches and spray pulp, soaking them until they all smelled like cider. Each tree a sovereign castle, they would make alliances. Mauvin always teamed with Alric shouting “My king! My king!” Lenare paired with Fanen wanting to protect her younger brother from the ‘brutes’ as she called them. Arista always remained on her own fighting both groups. Even when Lenare stopped climbing trees, it became the boys against the girl. She did not mind. She did not notice. She did not even think about it until now.

There was so much in her head. So much she needed to sort out. It had been hard to think bouncing around in the coach with Bernice staring at her. She desperately wanted to talk to someone, if only to hear her own words aloud. The idea that Sauly was a conspirator was growing in her mind despite her reluctance to accept it. If Sauly could betray her father, who could be trusted? Could Esrahaddon? Had he used her to escape? Was he responsible for her father’s death? Now it seemed the old wizard was nearby, somewhere just outside the walls perhaps, spending the night in one of the village houses. She did not know what to do, or who to trust.

Mauvin found what he was looking for and flicked it from his finger over the wall.

She opened her mouth to speak, hesitating on the proper words to say. The whole trip there she planned to discuss the issues raised at Ervanon with the Pickerings; well, Mauvin at least. She closed her mouth and bit her lip, once more thinking back to the long ago orchard and the smell of apples.

“There you are, Your Highness,” Bernice said, rushing to her with a shawl for her shoulders. “You shouldn’t be out so late; it’s not proper.”

“Honestly Bernice, you should have had children when you had the chance. This preoccupation with pampering me has got to stop.”

The older woman only smiled warmly. “I’m just looking after you, dear. You need looking after. This foul place is full of rough men. There is little but thin walls and the grace of the archbishop separating them from your virtue. A lady such as yourself is a strong temptation, and given the untamed surroundings of this wilderness it could easily drive many a good man to acts of rashness.” She glanced suspiciously at the brothers who looked back sheepishly. “And there are more than a few here who I couldn’t even describe as good men. In a great castle with a proper retinue men can be kept at bay by holding them in awe of royalty, but here my lady, in this barbaric, feral landscape, they will surely lose their heads.”

“Oh, Bernice, please.”

“Here we go,” Fanen said excitedly.

As the last of the sun’s light faded, the gates opened and Sir Enden and his retinue of two squires and three pages rode out, torches flaming. They trotted to the open plain where the knight prepared to do battle.

A shout rose from the crowd just then and Arista looked up to see a dark shadow sweep across the moonlit sky. It drifted in like a hawk, a silhouette of wings and tail. The crowd murmured and gasped as it circled the castle briefly, moving hesitantly before having its attention caught by torches waved by Sir Enden’s entourage on the hillside.

It folded its wings and dove, falling out of the sky like an arrow aimed at the knight of Chadwick. Torches moved frantically and Arista thought she saw Sir Enden level his lance and charge forward. There were screams, cries of anguish and terror, as one by one the torches in the field went out.

“Next!” shouted Luis Guy.

The dwarf led them up the river path to where the moon revealed a large rock protruding out toward the water. To Hadrian it looked vaguely like the dull tip of a broad spear. Magnus thumped the dirt with his boot then pointed toward the river. “We go in here. Swim straight down about twenty feet-there’s an opening in the bank. The tunnel runs right under us, curves down and then runs under the river to the tower.”

“You can tell all that with your foot?” Royce asked.

Hadrian looked at Esrahaddon. “How are you at swimming?”

“I can’t say I’ve had the opportunity since…,” he said lifting his arms. “But I can hold my breath a good long time. Drag me if necessary.”

“Let me go first,” Royce announced, his eyes on Magnus. He threw his coil of rope on the ground, and tied one end around his waist. “Feed this out to me, but hang on to it. I don’t know how swift the current is.”

“There is no current here,” Magnus told them. “There’s an underwater shelf that juts out creating an eddy. It’s like a little pond down there.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. Once I am down I’ll give three tugs indicating that it’s safe to follow. Tie off the end and follow the line down. If, on the other hand, I jump in and the rope runs out like you just caught a marlin, haul me back so I can personally kill him.”

The dwarf sighed.

Royce slipped off his cloak and with Hadrian holding the rope he descended into the river as if he was rappelling off the side of a wall. He dropped and vanished under the dark water. Hadrian felt the rope slip out gradually from between his fingers. At his side, Magnus showed no signs of concern. The dwarf stood with his head cocked back looking up at the sky. “What do you suppose it’s doing tonight?” he asked.

“Eating knights would be my guess,” Hadrian replied. “Let’s just hope they keep the thing busy.”

Deeper and deeper, the rope trolled out then it stopped. Hadrian watched where the line entered the water; it made a little white trail as it cut the current.

Tug. Tug. Tug.

“That’s it. He’s in,” Hadrian announced, “you next, little man.”

Magnus glared at him. “I’m a dwarf.”

“Get in the river.”

Magnus walked to the edge. Holding his nose and pointing his toes, he jumped and disappeared with a plop.

“That leaves you and me,” Hadrian said, tying the end of the rope to a birch tree that leaned a bit out toward the river. “You go first-I’ll follow-see how well you do. If need be, I’ll pull you through.”

The wizard nodded and for the first time since Hadrian knew him, he looked unsure of himself. Esrahaddon took three deep breaths rapidly blowing each out; on the fourth inhale, he held it and jumped feet first. Hadrian leapt in right after.

The water was cold, not icy or breathtaking, but colder than expected. The immediate shock caught Hadrian off guard for an instant. He kicked out with his feet, pointed his head down, and began to swim along the rope. Magnus was right about the current. The water was still as a pond. He opened his eyes. Above him, there was a faint blue-gray shimmer but it died at the surface, below it was black. Panic gripped Hadrian when he realized he could not see Esrahaddon. Almost in response, a faint light appeared directly below him. The wizard’s robe gave off a blue-green glow as he swam, pedaling his feet and stroking with his arms. Despite the lack of hands, he made good headway.

The light from the robe revealed the riverbank and the rope running down. It disappeared inside a dark hole. He watched the wizard slip through and with his lungs starting to burn, followed him. Once inside he kicked upwards and, almost together their heads emerged from a quiet pool in a small cave.