ESKER IX

  Little on the surface world impressed Esker, however, the delicate stonework of the High King’s seat was impressive even by Tengu standards. The archway of the main gates was a masterpiece, the stones were fit together so precisely that despite being joined without mortar, they had withstood the test of time. What impressed her further is that the archway was built into what appeared to the gaping maw of a massive cave.

  Fortunately the sun was on the other side of the mountain, so Esker was able to examine the details uninterrupted by any harsh glare. She suspected that the masonry was not done by Gaídel hands and the etchings above the archway confirmed her suspicions. Much like in the cave system below the dungeons of the Jotman castle where she had been imprisoned, there was a mix of archaic Tengu characters, animal pictographs, and what Esker assumed was Gaídel script. It was clear that the histories of these disparate people were once interwoven.

  Liadan took the lead through the threshold, accompanied by the many Gaídel laborers that they had aided in the battle between the Jotman and the Pechts. The Jotman prisoners were left with guards at the gate.

  Eógan followed shortly after, facing an onslaught of derision from the Gaídel gathered on either side of the entrance. He made a bizarre gesture with his fingers and that incited further abuse from these locals. Despite not being able to understand the specifics of the exchange, something about this dynamic hinted at a degree of playfulness. Esker’s treatment by the Jotman did not bear any sense of mutual respect, her captors had treated her like a monster. She considered alerting Eógan to the Pechtish animal glyphs, yet he seemed preoccupied by his swaggering.

  Guillaume was sullenly walking with his head hung low, the poor child must have taken being ostracized by the Gaídel personally. Esker put her hand gently on his upper back and asked, “Will you please capture these markings as you did in the caves we escaped through?”

  Guillaume seemed pleased by the positive engagement and was trilled when he saw the symbols and markings above the archway. “These are fantastic Esker, perhaps we can decipher the meaning of them with Eógan’s help?”

  “I too am keen to understand their meaning,” Esker replied, her eyes crinkling into a smile. Their exchange in Jotman and Tengu drew even more attention from the assembled Gaídel milling about the gate and especially that of the posted guards. Guillaume and Esker’s appearance, in particular their height, acted like Lady Galdr’s lodestone did to metal: speaking in foreign tongues amplified that draw.

  Esker pulled her makeshift sun hat low over her face to avoid the glares of the guards and checked her bandages to ensure that none of her skin was exposed. This helped pass the time as Guillaume studiously captured an image of the archway. Esker was impressed by his artistry, despite his near frantic effort to illustrate the scene as rapidly as possible. “You have a gift Guillaume, your ability to translate the seen world onto the page is impressive.”

  Guillaume seemed to be at a loss for words as he looked up into Esker’s eyes, beaming in that bizarre way surface dwellers did with their teeth. Even more strangely his cheeks flushed a bright red.

  “We may be spending too much time together friend, you have taken on the color of my skin,” she said playfully, gently brushing his cheek with the back of her fingers.

  Guillaume laughed bashfully and his smile grew.

  ———

  After Guillaume had finished his illustration and carefully packed his writing utensils away in his satchel, he and Esker were led through the gate by an impatient Gaídel guard into a beautiful atrium. Stone columns, that alternated with smooth glossy bands and textured matte strata, supported an enormous vaulted ceiling. Vivid murals of what appeared to be scenes from Gaídel history covered the roof of this large chamber and as Esker gawked up at it, one of the Gaídel guards said something in what sounded like an appreciative tone.

  Esker met his eyes and shrugged when he repeated the statement, unable to comprehend the meaning.

  The guard huffed with exasperation and beckoned for them to continue onward, leading them out of the large open room and into smaller, cramped corridors lit by smokey torches. Esker had to stoop to avoid hitting her head on the roof of the passageway, since it was proportioned for the much smaller Gaídel. The smoke clung to the ceiling, making it difficult for her to breathe.

  The quality of the stonework dramatically altered, it changed from the flawless craftsmanship of the gatehouse and the atrium, into what was clearly a much more modern addition. Esker could not help but judge the failure to use the same blue limestone present on the exterior, here roughly hewn sandstone bricks were mortared into place. Despite the cramped quarters, the branching hallways and densely situated rooms reminded Esker of home.

  The labyrinth-like network of tight corridors occasionally opened into junctions that, to Esker’s relief, possessed higher ceilings and allowed her to catch her breath. Many of the rooms and workshops that they passed seemed unused and in disrepair, as if the High King’s seat was once more densely populated. Crews of Gaídel cleaned and prepped vacant chambers.

  Liadan had explained that all of the petty kings that owed allegiance to the High King were gathering, so their retinues would likely be housed in the unused portions of this citadel. At last the guards escorting Guillaume and Esker turned one final corner into an area in better repair and stopped near a sturdy door with guards posted on either side of it.

  The guards had a brief exchange in Gaídel before the iron banded door was opened to reveal a well appointed parlor. Eógan lounged on some plush seating near a small table, while Liadan was stoking a fire in a sizable hearth. The Gaídel guard grunted and gestured to Guillaume and Esker, so they obediently entered the room. The guard called out to Liadan before the door swung shut and was locked from the outside.

  “Welcome to our cage,” Eógan called out from the couch he was draped across. “When is our next feeding time?” he asked Liadan, who frowned.

  “I am sure this is only temporary,” Liadan replied. “Besides, our quarters are quite lavish. After sleeping on the ground and on a shoddy cot in the abbey, a feather bed and a hot bath are welcome.”

  “A cage is a cage, no matter how gilded it is,” Eógan said grumpily and deepened his slouching. “What kept you two?”

  Guilluame met Esker’s eyes deferentially and she nodded at him encouragingly. “Esker noticed markings above the gatehouse’s archway which resemble those we found in the cave below Lord Osmond’s castle: there are interspersed Gaídel, Pechtish, and Tengu inscriptions.” At this Eógan sat up and Liadan put the wrought iron fire poker down.

  “Here? No wonder this place feels different, my people must have imbued some soul into it,” Eógan bragged as Guillaume unrolled the parchment he had illustrated the archway on. Eógan took a long look at it. “That is not bad Jotling, perhaps I will let you design a tattoo for me,” the Pecht said while looking down at his bare forearms.

  “That may be the first positive thing you have ever said to me,” Guillaume replied dismissively, yet Esker could tell he was pleased by the compliment.

  “That is because it is the first instance to warrant any encouragement,” Eógan snapped back at him.

  “Children,” Liadan interjected, “Could we please stay focused on the task at hand?”

  “Yes mother, or are you still a sister?” snarked Eógan.

  “I am surprised you paid attention long enough to remember the difference,” Guillaume grumbled.

  “Perhaps knocking together those two stones you each claim as heads will encourage better behavior,” Esker growled, fed up with their squabbling. The rest of the group was taken aback by her intensity and Esker’s face softened. “Was that too much?” she asked vulnerably. It also became painfully obvious to her how empty the threat was, how could a person with one arm bash two heads together?

  “Not at all, merely unexpected,” Liadan said, reaching to pat Esker’s left shoulder before hesitating awkwardly and settling it on her back, furthering forcing Esker to confront the reality of her missing limb.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  “You are very scary,” Eógan said solemnly. “I like it!” He grinned wildly and the tension of the group was broken.

  Esker mustered a weak smile, but as the group examined Guillaume’s drawing, her mind was elsewhere. She thought back to her feverish vision while injured in Lady Galdr’s hut, when she was visited by that terrifying entity that whispered promises of a limb of stone to replace what she had lost. Until now, so much of Esker’s energy had been focused on the moment and survival, this was among the first moments where she could reflect on the loss she had suffered, not only emotionally but physically. There were many tasks and activities she would no longer be able to do and so much energy would have to be spent learning to adapt.

  The temptation of the gift offered by that malevolent force tugged at her willpower: would making a deal with a demon be worth the risk? She thought of how it had toyed with her, showing her new arm ballooning grotesquely. Esker shuddered at the idea of losing control to that degree and considered the people that could be hurt in the process. Esker’s reveries were disrupted by a voice calling her name and she panicked thinking that the evil spirit trapped deep in the earth had found her once again.

  “Esk are you alright?” Guillaume asked, concerned.

  Esker backed away defensively before realizing where she was and regained her composure. “I am fine,” she replied flatly, unwilling to disclose what had haunted her.

  Guillaume stared at her for a long moment, but did not press her further, which she was grateful for. “We need your help translating these characters,” he said as he examined the piece of parchment paper with his drawing of the gate’s archway.

  LIADAN IX

  “I can read most of this phrase, however, the spelling does not make any sense,” Liadan said as she pointed to the archaic Gaídel script that Guillaume had transcribed. “Are you sure that this is accurate?”

  Guillaume appeared to be miffed at the suggestion, yet did his best to hide his dissatisfaction. “I simplified some of the architectural details, but took the time to be diligent in replicating the written script and characters,” he replied.

  Liadan smiled at him, which softened his demeanor. “I have faith in your abilities Guillaume. This also is consistent with the image of warded area that Esker and you found in the cave: the script is frustratingly familiar, but too archaic for me to translate.” She turned to Esker, “Are you able to understand these Tengu characters?”

  Esker shook her head. “Only pebbles and dust,” she replied. “Like you said of the Gaídel writing, this is ancient Tengu. I have only seen similar characters on heirlooms, or upon works of art from antiquity.”

  “It is strange how quickly a language can change,” Guillaume added. “My tutor showed me early Jotman text and it was indecipherable. Perhaps there are some scholars amongst your people that could aid us?”

  Esker thought for a moment. “There is a revered calligrapher in my home city of Tama. She is known for having studied the old style. Should I start digging?” There was a long and awkward silence as Esker looked from face to face. “I was joking…”

  “I will teach you the ways of sarcasm,” Eógan comforted her gravely. “I can name and describe the symbolism of these animals,” he said as he pointed towards the illustration. “Except for this one.” His finger hovered over a creature that belonged in a nursery tale: it had serpentine features and wings. “I can only guess at its significance. How about the Gaídel, Liadan? There must be someone here that could help.”

  “My father…” Liadan replied softly. While her outward demeanor was strong, for the sake of her friends, internally Liadan was in turmoil. Eógan’s question triggered memories of her father’s passion for preserving Gaídel history. He was an amateur and primarily a farmer, but over the years he had amassed an impressive library. Liadan hoped that those books had been saved from the fire that razed her town. She was desperate to locate her family, which made being trapped within these quarters unbearable. “I am sure there is a library and some sages in this fortress as well,” she added before the melancholy overwhelmed her.

  “Right, there must be detailed records of past rulers to legitimize the king’s line,” Guillaume replied studious before recognizing his callousness. “And of course we will locate your family,” he quickly added.

  “Should we break out of here?” Eógan asked, glancing at Esker. She flexed her huge hand and each knuckle cracked.

  “I appreciate your support,” Liadan said, conflicted by selfish needs and what was best for the group. “We should stay here a bit longer and pray that we are granted audience to the High King.” As if prompted and startling the group, the lock of the door was released. After a moment there was a soft knock and the door slowly swung open, yet there was no one there.

  “Oh, it is you,” Eógan said. As Liadan followed his eyes down to the floor she was shocked to see a tiny, well-dressed purple creature. “What tricks have you come to play on us, Bauchan?” Eógan asked playfully.

  The minuscule purple skinned fellow pantomimed indignation before breaking into a sly smirk and steepling its fingers together mischievously.

  “Hah, I like this one!” Eógan said as he began to sift through his meager belongings. “Its kind are troublemakers, however, they can be loyal in a time of need,” Eógan explained. “It is customary to offer a gift to secure their favor. Alas Bauchan, I have little to offer you… have you need of a knife?” From the plaid woolens wrapped around his waist, Eógan drew the blade that Sir Marin had stabbed Liadan with. “In your hands it might make a sword!” Eógan teased.

  The Bauchan made a show of sternly declining the knife, but Eógan insisted. Reluctantly it accepted the cruelly shaped knife, which was oversized to the point of being a broadsword in its infant-like fingers. The Bauchan delicately placed the blade on the stone tiled floor and removed a pouch the size of Liadan’s thumb from its belt. Puzzled, Liadan watched as the Bauchan tugged the opening of the pouch wide, it then yanked once more and its mouth miraculously doubled in size. In disbelief, she watched the purple creature ease the knife into this purse, where it completely disappeared, despite being far longer than the pouch was tall.

  “Fascinating,” Guillaume said as he approached for a closer look. The Bauchan looked at him expectantly. “Oh, a gift. What kind of things do you covet?” he asked. There was no reply.

  “Anything of value to you,” Eógan interjected. “The more sentimental, the choicer.”

  Guillaume scratched the top of his head, his brow furrowing pensively. He returned to the table and began to rummage through his satchel. Esker thought for a moment before moving over to join Guillaume. “Would you please retrieve the stone that Modwenna presented me?” She then turned to Eógan. “Gifting it would not be ungracious, correct?” Esker asked.

  Eógan shook his head. “Modwenna likely gave it to you for this purpose, she sees things that we cannot,” he replied warmly.

  Esker walked over towards the Bauchan and the disparity of their height was almost comical, the purple skinned creature was barely level with her knee. Esker lowered herself down and folded her legs beneath her body, before extending her large hand with the stone on it reverently. “Is Bauchan a proper name or that of its people?” She asked.

  “Both,” Eógan replied simply. Bauchan carefully took the smooth stone, studied it appreciatively and placed it into his pouch. “From what I have heard, they also do not express genders the way we do.”

  “My people do not place much importance on sex either.” Esker added. “There is some bias, but generally the most capable worker will secure a position.”

  “It is the opposite for Jotman,” Guillaume said as he pulled a roll of scrolls from his satchel. “Women cannot become knights or warriors. Most are tasked with caregiving, yet there are a few jobs exclusively available to them. Unfortunately most are menial by nature, like being a maid, or serving as a nurse under a male doctor.” As he finished his explanation, he spread several sheets of parchment on the small table by the sitting area. Each sheet captured, in meticulous detail, the architectural designs of a castle. How the rooms and quarters were arrayed, the dimensions of the walls, where the dungeon was situated, and more.

  Liadan was taken aback by the artistry. Guillaume’s hasty sketch of the High King’s archway was impressive, however, these schematics were painstakingly captured and incredible to behold. “These are truly wonderful Guillaume,” she said warmly, “Is this Lord Osmond’s castle?”

  “It is!” Guillaume beamed at her compliment. “Godefroy, his advisor, tasked a team of architects to design a castle fit for the Duke D’Amboise. I always found such fortresses to be fascinating, so I took it upon myself to replicate those plans.” He sorted a separate stack of pages. “Given our current, uh… relation with the Jotman, perhaps having these designs could give us a strategic advantage.”

  Both Esker and Liadan nodded in agreement, Eógan appeared to be doing his best to ignore Guillaume when he was the center of attention.

  Guillaume carefully rerolled the castle designs and presented the separated stack to the group. “However, these are of my own design,” he said with atypical confidence, as he lifted the parchments to display schematics for a wondrous castle. It featured delicate towers and a flowing nature that ran as a counterpoint to the boxy and militaristic nature of the castle Lord Osmond was building.

  Bauchan took a step forward, now able to see the pages from its perspective well below the table and its pupils dilated comically large. “I would like you to have these, they are very near and dear to me,” Guillaume said as he rolled up his castle designs and tied them together with a small ribbon. Bauchan was delighted.

  Now the attention turned to Liadan, since she had yet offered a gift. She bit her bottom lip gently, considering what she had of value. At the moment she possessed little, especially items of a sentimental nature. The only two things she had an emotional connection to was her Broken Man necklace, with its separated V’s on a simple chain, and her postulant vestments from the abbey. Her habit had a tear in it from where Marin’s knife had pieced her flank and was stained with blood, which could make it ill-suited as a gift, but it also held immense value to her emotionally. It felt right for her to shed those robes in light of her betrayal by the Abbess, while retaining her Broken Man necklace, since her faith had never been stronger.

  As Liadan retrieved her habit, Eógan stilled her, “Careful lass, blood is a powerful medium. Are you sure you wish to place it in Bauchan’s care?”

  When Liadan looked down at Bauchan, it coyly posed like a child awaiting a sweet treat. Liadan could not help but laugh. “I trust you Bauchan and offer you my habit,” she said solemnly. Bauchan gratefully took the folded cloth and the pouch devoured it.

  “Well, what now?” Guillaume asked. Bauchan trotted over to the still open doorway and beckoned for the party to follow.