Lost in the Light Ch. 10

****

Wolfe struggle to keep the full bowl of porridge from spilling on the tray as he walked across the yard to the hot box. His legs were still half asleep from his meditation, but it was the bruised muscles in his back from The Father's punishments that made his stride awkward and unbalanced. Feeding Liam was the duty of a steward, but Wolfe had offered to be helpful. He needed to speak to the man; if anyone could give him advice about Zecairins, it would be Liam. He was still lost in thought when he arrived at the hotbox. It was a simple crate converted into a cage of sorts with a door on the front complete with lock. The gaps in the wooden slats allowed for air flow, and there was an opening for food in the bottom of the door. But something was missing. What was keeping it down? If this was supposed to be a prison, why wouldn't the occupant merely stand up? Then he caught a glimpse of metal behind it, iron stakes that nailed it to the building's framing timbers.

"Liam?" He said quietly. There was a person inside without a doubt, but all he could see was a shadow. But the heavy breathing and the smell of sweaty, unwashed man made it clear he was still alive. "Liam!" Wolfe said again.

"you smell like Zek..." came the voice inside the box. The voice was weary, and ended its sentence with a deep exhale that invited more words to follow, but none came. Wolfe reflexively sniffed his robes and wrinkled his nose.

"Can you talk?" Wolfe asked. He hadn't been expressly forbidden from talking to Liam, but he was certain it wasn't allowed. "I mean... do you need to rest?"

"yes... no..." came the weary reply. "how was she? the Zek..."

"I'm training the present you left us; The Father wants her to be a Huanguard."

"good for her... good for you...she won't make it..."

"What? Why?" Wolfe scowled as he slid the tray under the door. He heard Liam move to collect it and start to slowly slurp the meal without using the spoon.

"Rasj..." Liam said as way of explaining. Wolfe nodded as if he understood, but in truth didn't. He wanted to press it, but he thought he should let the man eat first.

"Why do they have you locked in?" Wolfe noticed the iron padlock. "Are you dangerous?"

"yes..."

"How?"

"I am a disruptor... " Liam finished and slid the empty bowl back under the door. Wolfe scratched his head in annoyance; this was almost as bad as trying to get straight answers out of The Mischievous. "I was poisoned... Never let your guard down... Not even for a woman."

"Are you contagious? Do you have what The Mischievous has?"

"No." Liam laughed, a weakly pathetic laugh that ended in a coughing fit.

"Do you know what's wrong with The Mischievous?" Wolfe pushed for more answers, and glanced across the courtyard to see the Zecairin in her afternoon training lessons with Master Jacob. He also saw Silas beginning his early afternoon walk.

"yes... so does The Father... so does Silas... so does Rasj..."

"They all know? Why won't they cure her? Is there a cure?" Liam grew silent. Wolfe expected Liam's usually slow to come, whimsical answers but this was an actual silent response. Or had the man passed out? He took a step closer and put his hand on the cage.

"Death cures all." Liam said at last. Wolfe's mood soured and he couldn't accept that answer right away.

"There's no other way but to kill the infected?"

"Them... or Her...." Wolfe didn't understand that.

"Kill them? Silas and the others?" Wolfe scowled and glanced across the yard. He couldn't see Silas. Which could be a good thing or a very bad thing.

"no..." Liam wheezed. "Kill the infected... or kill the source..." Now Wolfe understood. He reinterpreted Liam's answers – they were not necessarily cryptic but they were purposely brief. The man was barely lucid after all.

"Liam, who is 'Her'" he asked, almost afraid to get the answer.

"The Mother..." Liam breathed. "the source..." The Demon... Wolfe figured it out.

"Wait, you said The Father knew," Wolfe leaned in and whispered his next words in secrecy. "Does he know about Zecair? About Demons Blood?"

"I told him..." Liam said. Wolfe scratched his head vigorously. If The Father knew already, how fucked were they? Was he going to shut off the supply? Was Zecair going to march to war against them to reestablish supply?

"Ohh," Wolfe said as understanding finally came; all the pieces were falling into place. Liam had sent the Mischievous here by some magical means – no doubt Silas's doing. The Mischievous was a message to The Father, she was the evidence of how things were in Zecair. There was no denying physical proof. She was never meant to be a Huanguard – her role was done. But why was The Father having him train her? To test the Huanguard on the Zecairin's new abilities? Was she a practice test for the war that was about to come? Wolfe dared to think. The Mischievous was being used in more ways than one – The Father was gaining tactical knowledge on their fighting ability, and Silas was doing... something to her with his sorcery.
Wolf's uneasy feeling kept getting worse and his mood turned from sour to cold and dark. Once they learned all they needed, they'd kill her. As young as he was, Wolfe was not naïve; his eyes had been fully opened long ago to the harsh reality of life.

"how do you know? The Mischievous was it?"

"Yes, she trusts me." Wolfe said. But hearing himself say it, he knew it was absurd sounding.

"For Zecairins, love and trust are the same thing..."

"Fuck..." Wolfe muttered and rubbed his head again. Liam couldn't help but chuckle lightly, but couldn't manage not to cough. "I mean, I thought if I told The Father what we found he would put a stop to the demon's blood, and then Zecair would come knocking on our door wanting more. I was worried for nothing."

"you were worried for the wrong reasons..." Liam shuffled closer to the corner of his cage. "you've seen her angry? imagine a whole nation like that..."

"Oh, fuck me. They'd be unstoppable!"

"and?" Liam coached the younger Huanguard.

"And... they're insatiable. They'd want to fuck or kill the rest of the world."

"we made them unstable..." Liam concluded. Wolfe grew silent. He now understood why The Mischievous had her good moments and her bad moments. It wasn't her fault really, but he knew that already. Only now he knew the why. He sat and digested all that he had just learned. When he wasn't panicking, his mind was rather sharp, but it was nearing the edge of catastrophe and he desperately tried to hang on a bit longer.

"So if we kill the source, it cures them all? Instantly?"

"yes... but that is not something a human can do."

"What? Why?"

"we cannot use magic..."

"But Silas-"

"is a sorcerer. their powers come from demons... we need elven magic. more than The Mischievous can use. We need an elf of royal bloodlines..."

"Elven magic?" Wolfe suddenly realized something too absurd to be true. "Is that why The Father is having me train her? To make her a Huanguard? So she can kill The Mother?" Liam chuckled darkly. A water skin skidded out from under the cage.

"i'm thirsty..." Liam said, and another water skin came out beside it. Wolfe obliged and picked them both up as he left to go refill them at the well. It gave him time to think about all they had talked about, and how much further he wanted to take this. It really wasn't his fight after all. He had already faced one enraged Zecairin – twice- and he didn't want to face another, and definitely not an army. This was the first time Wolfe felt out of his league, out of his depth. Magic, demons, elves – they were all so foreign to him. In his younger years as a hunter's son in the borderlands he had seen some of the mysteries of the wild, but out there they were surmountable. One learned to avoid them usually, or how to combat them if not. He had seen his share of mystical creatures, and fought off a dozen bog witches. But it was never war... What Liam was suggesting, and what the Huanguard were about to get themselves involved in, would lead to war one way or another as Wolfe saw it.

By the time he had finished filling the first skin, Silas had joined him unannounced at the well. Wolfe almost spooked when he noticed the fat monk.

"Deep in thought?" The sorcerer asked cheerily.

"Aye, I have a lot to contemplate." Wolfe said offhanded and continued to fill the second water skin from the pail. "I'm starting to regret taking on this duty of being her teacher."

"Ahhh," Silas said as if understanding Wolfe's dilemma. "Zecairins are precarious devils. They are tricksters more than anything. But once you learn to see through their deceptions, they are little more than you or I." He made grand sweeping gestures as he spoke, suggesting dark elves were little more than a nuisance to the man. "Tell me, what really happened in Honsdale? The Father refuses to speak about it, he is most prickly..."

Wolfe stared at the man for the first time, sizing up his cherubic smile, his double chins, and the fearlessness with which he carried himself. Fat men were something Wolfe had never known before coming closer to civilization. On the frontier, men had to work hard to survive. Any of the Huanguard could make this blob of lard cower in combat... so why did he carry himself as if he owned this Monastery? Silas's deceptive harmlessness made Wolfe uncomfortable, he needed to pick his side, and his words, carefully. He took a long calming breath as he gathered his thoughts to speak. Silas put his back to the main Chapel and leaned in conspiratorially.

"The Mischievous lost control, and a lot of people died, and I failed to stop her," Wolfe admitted. He didn't see any harm in telling the fat man that much. "What's worse she tried to put a binding-spell on me. I clubbed her in the head before she finished it. But the hard thing is, I would have killed her for trying if I didn't know it really wasn't her fault. Sometimes I think just putting her out of her misery is the best choice." He locked the pail winch and gathered up his water skins.

"What of the cabal you were sent to investigate?" Silas said.

"The best lead I found she butchered in one of her blind rages before I could get any answers." Wolfe grumbled. "Getting answers was never my strong point, and having that rabid she-snake along for the ride makes it impossible. Wait..." he said as something dawned on him. "Did you really want answers? Or just to make an example of whomever stuck their nose in our business?" Silas smiled and turned around.

"Answers would have been nice," Silas said and turned away disappointed. "Have you spoken with Master Rasj today?"

"No I've been in penance with The Father." Wolfe grumbled.

"I'll send him your way," Silas said and left him to his task. Wolfe hurried to the hot box and slid the water skins under the door. He heard Liam take one and immediately drain half of its contents.

"Rasj wants to speak to me," Wolfe said in a hushed tone. "What does that mean?" Liam didn't immediately answer. "Silas spoke to me and told me so." A sudden chill crawled over his skin, and Wolfe rubbed his arms. Something dark just happened that he didn't want to know about.

"Rasj will ask you what side you are on." Liam began, his voice sounding somewhat more refreshed. "When you meet god on the battlefield, will you bow before him, or will you kill him knowing him to be false?" Wolfe tried to think of an answer, but found it hard to answer. "Rasj thinks he is close to attaining god-hood. All he has to do is kill The Father. His question is his way of determining who will be a threat to him after he does it."

"Does The Father know?"

"The Father knows everything... but sometimes he chooses not to act upon it. He cannot asses your potential unless he allows you to make the choice."

"What should I do?"

"Do you love The Mischievous?" Liam asked. Wolfe couldn't answer. "If you did, you would take her far from here, and enjoy your time together until they catch you and kill you. Stay, and you'll both die."

"Can't you help? You're Liam! No one here is as strong as you!" Wolfe protested.

"I made a mistake, two mistakes," Liam admitted. "The first was in breaking one of our oaths. I disobeyed the Father. I spared my target, and took pity on her. I thought I could give her a better life. The moment The Father gets me to confess that, he'll kill me. The second mistake was I got cocky. I was nicked by a poisoned elvish arrow. I thought little of my opponent and assumed they wouldn't be so equipped. Even with a nick, it should have killed me. It stops the heart, but instead it weakened mine. I'm not as strong as I used to be."

"What can I do?"

"Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness. Be extremely mysterious, even to the point of soundlessness. Thereby you can be the director of your opponent's fate." Liam quoted.

"What?"

"Think about it, when you make love to her tonight." Liam chuckled. "You should go, spend too much time here and you'll draw attention. If we're both still alive tomorrow, come talk to me then."

Wolfe gathered his tray and left without another word. This day was turning worse by the minute. This wasn't what he signed up for. This was more than he could handle. But did he have the strength to just leave?

****

Once safely back inside their room, The Mischievous threw her practice weapons to the room floor and dropped to her knees. She hugged her knees to her chest and fell the rest of the way down onto her side. It took time for her magic to heal all the bruises and fractured bones the Masters had given her. She gritted her teeth through it all. This was a normal and part of her daily routine. Their methods were cruel and harsh, but effective – they reminded her a bit of home. Her skill was improving, but she still had a long way to go to match their caliber.

She didn't bother changing out of her sweaty, blood-splattered training clothes. And once she felt well enough to stand, she went to the door of her room and looked down the hallway. No one was near. She leapt up to the rafters in the ceiling and, keeping to the shadows, leapt hand over foot, rafter to rafter, down the distance of the hallway in silence. It was a tight space to maneuver in, but she managed it flawlessly. Her training had made her acutely aware of her own balance and standing as well as better in her sword work. It was worth the price she paid in pain and bruises. The journey from the barracks hall to the main chapel, and eventually to Silas's laboratory was surprisingly uneventful. For all their bluster, these Huanguard could be utter fools at times.

The Mischievous found the door closed, but unguarded – as was the usual. She paused here and tried to sense out any magical forces at work on the other side. It wasn't a skill she had been trained in, but she hoped it worked the same way as eavesdropping from afar. She couldn't feel anything on the other side – and that worried her. A Sorcerer should have magical protections. Or she just wasn't using her magic right...

With no other option, she glanced once down the hall to make sure it was clear, before dropping down and testing the door. It opened easily, and she slid inside before closing it behind her.

The room was much like she remembered it. There was little of value in here to anyone who wasn't Silas it seemed. But her dreams were too real for there not to be something here. She searched the room cautiously. Work tables with alchemical ingredients, glass jars, and grinding stones took up the center floor. The walls were lined with shelves, books covered one wall, and pots with different plants growing in them covered the other.

Touch nothing. Her fear was telling her. Even if it wasn't trapped, there was no telling what some of these ingredients could do, knowing Silas. Despite his duties as a healer, he was a sorcerer after all.

The Mischievous scanned the walls. They were normal stone brick like the bulk of the building structure, with wooden rafters above and a shingled roof. Here on the farthest side of the main chapel, the roof slanted away from the inner wall towards the outer wall and the gardens outside. This was where he was standing earlier today, she thought as she recognized the patch of carrots outside the window. The sun was slowly setting past the outer wall. She didn't have much time left.

She focused her attention to where the floorboards and the stone wall met. If there was a secret door there would be signs of disturbance in them. Sure enough she found an area with a tiny gap where the two met. Where the gap began and ended was just the right length for a door to swing open. She stood before it and stared long and hard at the bookshelves that adorned them. It puzzled her how this part of a wall could be a secret door with so many books in front of it. Silas would need to take them all down and put them all back up every time he opened the door.

The Mischievous ran her fingers through her hair and silently scolded herself. Humans do things differently, she reminded herself. Doors don't roll out of the way, like in Zecair, they swing open on a hinge. She searched the side of the wall where one edge of the door might be and found a similar tiny gap running vertically up the wall. Her fingers wanted to touch that stone and feel its contours for something out of the ordinary – a switch perhaps, a hidden handle, something.

Touch nothing, her fear reminded her. There was only one trick left.

The Zecairin elf focused her magic into the air in that tiny gap and made it expand. There was a build up of pressure on the other side, and slowly the entire section of wall swung open.

She smirked. This was almost too easy. But what she saw on the other side explained her success. As the door swung open a glyph written on its backside came into view. She watched the lines flare to life with magic power, and she had only a second to dash inside before bright purple light shot out of it at the same spot she occupied a moment earlier.

Simple, crude, and foolish. She reflected. His defenses were designed to kill human men that went snooping. Too simplistic to be a threat to her, or any serious thieves that came prepared to deal with a sorcerer's treasure. But as the light basked the small hidden room, and illuminated the chained prisoner inside. The Mischievous realized this was a different sort of secret place – not one to keep people out of, but to keep someone in.

She stared in bewilderment at the limp, naked Zecairin girl that hung from her chain bonds, but deep down this was what she had been afraid to find - Her doppelganger. Before her was a perfect copy of her likeness, from the short blue hair, to the mole on her butt. The captive was too weak to regard the visitor as the vacant expression in her eyes didn't seem to care.

The Mischievous went down to a knee before her and lifted the girl's face up to meet her own. They stared deep into one another's eyes, each searching to see if this was another horrible dream or if it was real. The Mischievous ran her hand over the copy's forehead and found her very feverish. She touched her forehead to the girl's and whispered softly to her.

"How long do you have?"

"Get me out of here, and I'll make it." The doppelganger wheezed. The Mischievous looked to the girl's bonds, and found the manacles fused. This cage wasn't meant to release a prisoner once it had one. "Don't disturb the sigils." She panted. "It's how he accelerates it. It's how he knows when the time comes."

"This will hurt." She consoled the captive as she took a handcuff in both hands.

"Do it." The doppelganger growled. Magic flowed into the metal bond until it heated it. The iron glowed red hot, and seared the skin and flesh of the girl's wrists. Despite the pain she didn't utter a complaint. It took some time, but eventually the metal became soft enough for The Mischievous to pull it about like half-melted butter. Her own hands were immune from the searing heat so long as they channeled the magic power. She continued her work on the next manacle, and then the ones at her feet. When the last finally parted, The ragged girl finally gave a soft whimper and collapsed into her savior's hands.