[Sir Gaviel]
A cackle escapes from the fire as I hold it higher.
Even with a torch, I barely illuminate the path. These rocky caves are consumed in darkness, even in daylight. Said to be hewn deep by the ancestors who used it as passages and for mining.
It is a distance south, away from Bessilus City, the Aeon capital, nearer to the desolate Lur. I left the military base before the sun could peek just so I could reach this place in time.
What this place is called, I do not know.
Tunnels and caves of passages beneath the ground we live. Beneath the land of Freobel. This place is a labyrinth of turns, forks and twists. A maze. No one goes down here for a simple reason.
It does not exist.
Not on any map nor any book ever written by locals or colonizers. But for me, it might as well be a backyard.
After hours of veering my way through, it should be dawn by now. My body can seem to tell as nerves thrum awakened by some phantom inner clock.
Just as I planned.
A small sound, a soft intake of breath, hinders my steps. I crane forward to the source, feeling the resonation.
Someone is here.
I turn to look back but I could not have been followed. I made sure of it. My men at arms are either drunk or indisposed as what others would be under festivity. The knapsack on my back slid slightly as my hand is upon my sword, instinctive. Perfunctory. I continue to walk ahead knowing my companion is not far.
This presence. It is different somehow. If it was a normal one, I would have noticed long before. It feels faint, without substance.
Like a shadow.
Like the one I felt on the field of Lur. I was sure of the boy, Sanim's presence then, but there was another one…
Soon enough, a figure emerges.
The torch must have been a ray of sunlight as the creature was holding up hands, shielding its eyes. I run my gaze down on a small form.
It was not until I notice the curves on the right places I realize it is only a girl. Another lost one perhaps.
I remove my grip on the sword.
Twisted mass of dark hair matted with mud and dry blood, atop her head. A piece of suppose to be white clothing with short sleeves hugs her bodice, smothered with dirt. Her short legs are covered in a material I know nothing of, fitting like a hose but skintight. She is wearing a pair of strange shoes I have never seen before.
And she reeks of the smell I would recognize from a square mile – the smell of carnage, decay. Death.
The ebony eyes, large in surprise, gazes up to me from the slits of her hand. She is aware of who I am as well. That I was a soldier, it seems to say. A touch of fear in her, and overbearing curiosity.
I weigh the gravity of her state. She looks unhurt. Probably a few scratches.
"Follow me," I say quietly, gesturing for her to understand. I would have to question her later.
I lead her through a series of straight path. Twisting and turning a few times. Her eyes never left my back and I feel it speculating me. When we rounded a corner, I notice the air shifting abruptly. From damp cold to warm. The faintest scent of civilization as the scent of wet grass, captured my sense of smell.
We arrive at the exact spot.
The wall on my right is ten steps with big strides. Blocks of ordinary stone make up the wall, the center block I regard more closely. If someone else should be standing here, they would not realize it unless he is my stand and built.
A deeper groove on the particular block.
I press a hand and nudge, it easily slides. A perfectly cut square door slides inwards as silent as the wind. Bright light, collective smells and roars of people greet us. I glance back to the little girl; perceiving inquisitively at me than the secret door.
We usher in. Her jaw drops by the thickness of the door as I close it back. We are standing at a landing of a jutted rock, facing a great, gaping cave. There are large holes on the roof of the cave which gives the light below. A flight of stairs stretches on my right.
"Sir Gaviel!"
A squab man with a balding head in a silk, yellow tunic belted at the waist and undyed breeches underneath approaches us immediately. His own daughter skulking behind him.
"You should not have –"
I cut off his disapproval with a small shake of my head. I hand him the torch then untied the knot of the knapsack on my chest.
Han the Healer looks like he is about to explode, as beet as a tomato. Two bags hang under his eyes, black and dismal. They are clearly pushing to the limit. I look at Morya and she ducks her head at my gaze. I hand her the sack full of various healing salve. Clean towels, bandages, bread and other supplies.
Hugging the package, she hastily removes herself from us, still hesitant when I am around.
"What do you need?" I ask.
The healer frowns, unsure, skeptic. He sees the risk I disregard everytime I smuggle medicine for them.
"You do not have to."
I match his look with equal stubbornness. He sighs.
"We are running low on food."
I nod. "You need to leave by tonight. The Anagolay was sent after the survivors."
"I see."
Han finally regards the girl at my side. Puzzlement then sympathy conforms in his face. He run a hand on the few hairs he is left, showing a white tattoo of a circle with a spiral in the center – on his forearm. Their healer's mark.
"Lur?" he asks. I simply nod.
"I will tell Morya to bring her some clothes. See you in the wells."
With that, he left. I lead the girl down, careful to stay in the shadows. As we walk, I adjust the hood covering my head.
We pass by a lot of injured men, women and children. The people of Lur, kingdom of Thraine. The ones who have escaped.
Aligned on five rows, they lie on the ground with just a thin cloth as bed. Some are soldiers but most are innocent civilians. The severely injured are on a makeshift tent on the far side. Women of Han's tribe, in a wide range of age are running, tossing, and tending to them.
I hear plaintive sobbing. Cries of pain, of loss, of fear; saddening and disheartening.
The worst are their eyes. I recognize it as my own after a battle. Abject, disconnected. Vacant of a soul that once occupied it. The siege on Itohk city took its toll and now Lur has fallen.
Aeonnite Kingdom did it all. To lay claim the land of these people. Founded a new reign on crime and built it up with murder. For its own progress. For gold.
My company halts midstride. The girl's eyes are flying across the dome of soil and rock. The awe as she looks at the vast space, the sympathy and confusion. A whole multitude of emotion plays on her face as opposed to mine. She glances at my direction repeatedly looking even more distraught.
I understand her confusion.
I am the only one misplaced in this haven. The lack of color on my skin and the chalk white hair distinguishes me.
I am a soldier in King Cirrhinus' name, the conqueror. An Elite soldier of the Aeonnite kingdom. I am an enemy.
A traitor.
"A traitor," she voices my thought.
I stand a few inches away from her, towering over her like a pointing finger over a thumb. The girl stands undaunted nonetheless, looking up at me with eyes piercing.
With awareness I cannot fathom.
I glance away, brushing off the tingling of what might be uncertainty or fear in my chest. Then, I realize.
She speaks Aeonnite.
Every part of me snaps on alert. Immediately, a knife is on her neck. Her hands raise on surrender. I do not want a scene so I prod her east.
The freshwater wells, tributary of the river running aboveground, is on a separate cave. The river has found a way underground. As if digging its way through the stone, it made some parts of it deep, forming illusions of a well.
When we reach the wells, I lower the knife point to her heart.
"I do not believe in coincidences. How did you follow me?"
Through a single torch near my left, I see fear settling on her. Shakily, she extends her hands between us.
"Please. I don't know."
"How did you enter the tunnels?"
"I - I don't know."
She is lying. Before I could ask her more, I hear steps coming our way. Morya.
I tuck my knife back. Morya silently leads the girl somewhere to attend in cleaning her up. As I wait, I kneel at the edge of the flowing water, scoop handfuls and drinks. I feel the cold, sweet fresh water slid down my parched throat, soothing.
People have wandered in the tunnels long before. They get lost, is all. Maybe I was too rough on the girl. Too paranoid. But why lie?
Morya drops me a towel, moving back to aid her. I squat down and cover my face with the cotton giving myself a moment of solitude. I have at least hours before my absence could be suspected.
They will not check the supplies on the healing ward, at least not yet. Once they do it will be hard to trace who have come and gone inside their – I am being observed.
The girl.
She lingers near me, weary. Her uncanny presence makes the hairs on my nape rise. I remove the cloth from my face and soak it in the water, abating the sense of danger.
Morya finally left.
The girl is silent, thinking. I feel it. Thoughts form in the air but she never utters a word. So, I did.
"How did you enter the tunnels?" My chilling voice bounces on the cave walls.
She does not answer.
I face her and she takes a step back. She remains half hidden in the shadows but I can tell she changed into a bland linen dress that reaches her ankles, girded in the middle by a dark leather belt. Her sleeves overflows in her arms, indeed a clothing of Han's tribe. Still, I caught the hem of her strange cloth like a ring on her ankle.
"I, uh," she croaks, finally talking. "You are…"
"You know who I am."
She nods. My hand reaches for the hilt of my rapier. "What happened to you?"
"I was uh, I was at Lur…" she pauses. "And then I wasn't. I - I know It doesn't make any sense and it's hard to explain but that's what happened. You have to believe me."
My eyes narrow at her in suspicion. She talks differently as though words are being eaten up. But being an Aeonnite should be reason enough to silence her. The girl takes a stride farther.
"What were you doing in Lur?"
"I saved him. Now I'm stuck here." The girl starts pacing. Groaning and mumbling under her breath. "I changed the storyline. Why did I- How am I supposed to-"
"Saved who?"
"A boy, Sanim was it?"
"That was you." I say, confirming. "Where is he?"
"He's -" She gasps. "I left him. I was there and then I was gone. I - I don't -"
"Left him where?"
"With the Anagolay."
The Anagolay.
A mercenary through and through. No known associations. Never been named nor captured. It is said that he is blessed by the goddess of lost things herself that there is no one he cannot track. No one he cannot find. And no mortal would survive should he encounter the mercenary.
He was hired by King Cirrhinus when we did not find a trace of the boy but that would mean –
"How did you get away from him?" I ask, surprise seeping into my voice. "Alive."
Her hand clamps her mouth. My grip on the hilt tightens.
"It's not what you think," she says. It did not stop me from unsheathing my rapier. I smell her fear and see her shudder.
Bringing with him a torch and a basket of food, Han finds us. He notices my sword and stops short. "Sir Gaviel – what?"
"Is he dead?"
She hesitates.
"Is the boy dead?"
"I'm sorry, I don't know. I really don't." Her voice catches, pleading almost.
Han clutches his chest, terrified to know there is an Aeonnite in our midst. How easily our plan be exposed. Us, murdered. She can try. I will not allow it.
"I have no intention in exposing any of you."
"What intentions do you have then?" I sneer.
The girl steps out of the dark and I forgot to breathe. I barely hear Han exclaiming in his native dialect.
She glances between me and Han, confuse. Without the mud and blood, her physical traits are revealed. It dawned on us like a weight being brought down our shoulders.
"It is not possible."
"What is not possible?"
She focuses on me but I find I cannot meet her gaze.
Emotions rise to the surface, the ones I buried to forget. And failed inexorably. For the blood shed refuses to be forgotten.
I know someday it will come haunting me. A sin so great. Guilt so deep.
She haunts me now.
Those ebony eyes, golden brown skin, and silky, pitch black hair painfully etched in my memories like it was just yesterday. The physicality possessed solely by the people of The Valley.
The people I slaughtered like pigs, ten and a half years ago.