Breaking the Gloaming (16 page)

“You are doing a fine job of that,” I said. Lorien had been taking on more and more of my responsibilities.

“I am, but the men need
you
. They need their prince to lead.”

“I will lead them, but I want to find another way. I want to find some unseen path that avoids destruction. Thousands and thousands will die if we fight. Our city might burn. I will not lead us into that.”

“You are denying reality.” She peered into my eyes as if looking for some clue of what I was thinking. I hardly knew what I was thinking. “You are still denying the scars you bear from the Gloaming.”

“I am,” I admitted. “And Tryst and other men are still down there. The minister of prisons keeps saying the time is close for bringing them back. Maybe I should follow Tryst’s example and run this city like a tyrant. At least things would get done then.”

“I agree you must speed up this rescue, but you also must remember who you were before the Gloaming.” She ran a finger along the scar on my cheek. “Do you remember when we last saw each other before Tryst betrayed you?”
 

I nodded. I did remember. I had seen her in the back of the throne room toward the end of that day. I had excused the nobles, and she and I had gone for a walk along the bluff between the palace and the sea.

“The wind was calm that day.” I closed my eyes to see the memory more clearly. “You were wearing a yellow dress. You were beautiful. We talked of the future.”

“You were wearing your crown, and your hair was darker then.” She ran her hand through my pale hair. “When we talked of the future, we talked about our children.”

“You called me bold for assuming I’d be the father of your children.” A smile came to my lips.

“You were bold,” she said. “You were bold and strong. I played at resisting you, but you knew you had me.”

“I hoped I had you.”

“And now you do, but your boldness has faded. I can be bold for us, but I want the man from that day to return.”

 
“I’m trying.” I sighed, and then I felt the tug. It was the pull of the Gloaming, common lately and made stronger by my dream, as if the Summit’s blade was still in my gut, calling me.
 

I slid out of bed. “I’m going down to the dungeons. I want to stand over the pit. Maybe it will help clear my head.”
 

Lorien did not look surprised. “I’ll come with you,” she said.

I shook my head as I began to dress. “I will go alone tonight. It will be safe, and I will not be gone long. Only I can fight these demons inside me.”

She stood and took my hands. “Very well, but promise you will not even think of going down into the Gloaming.”

“I promise.” I bent down and kissed her lightly. “I will be back before dawn.”

“Come back safe.” She held my face and smiled. “I will keep our bed warm. It will be ready for a bold man’s return.”

As I walked out of my chambers, her smile left a warm shell around the cold terror of my nightmare.

I declined when my guards offered to go with me. The halls were empty and quiet and cool. I went down the grand central staircase and through a plain door that led to the dungeons.
 

As I descended through the torch-lit dungeon halls, I thought back on my two prior trips along this path. On the first, I had worn a bag over my head, with my hands tied behind my back. On the second, I had been just as blind, hoping to rescue Tryst like a hero. How wrong, how full of pride, I had been. And now he was down there. Was he still alive? How many men had he killed? How had he changed? I had no answers.

After many more stairways and halls, I entered the vast, round cave with the entrance to the Gloaming. The cave was lit by a hundred torches ringing the smooth walls. Slits carved into the outer edge of the floor let the light of those torches glow into the city below. In the center of the huge expanse, there was a hole in the floor, twenty paces across. Empty cages hung motionless over the hole. Four guards stood around it. They faced the outer wall, as if no threat could come from the pit.

I approached the nearest guard.

“Halt,” he commanded, drawing his sword. “Name yourself.”

“I am the prince, Andor Vale.”

“I doubt that,” the guard grunted. “Drop your sword.”
 

I held my empty palms out to him as I stepped closer.

He peered at me. His eyes suddenly opened wide. He sheathed his sword and bowed.

“Stand,” I said. “I trust all goes well this night?”

“Yes, my prince.” He pulled off his helm. He had a solid face and clear eyes. He was maybe twenty years my senior. Like most guards this deep in the dungeons, he would have once been a prisoner who was assigned this secret penance of service.

“How long have you been a guard here?” I asked.

“Almost fifteen years, my prince, and I’ve been in the dungeons ten years longer than that.” He paused. “I have never seen a prince visit this place.”

“You know I was down there for a season?” I gestured to the pit behind him.

He nodded. “You’re the only one who’s ever gotten out.” He had awe in his voice.

“I want to change that,” I said. “What do you know about the city below?”

“Probably nothing you don’t know,” he shrugged, “but there’s some legends passed down to us guards.”

“Do they speak of how this started?”
 

“You see these walls?” He pointed past me and raised his arm in an arch as if tracing the dome above. “I’ve never seen stone this smooth, except maybe where thousands of feet or an ocean has worn it down. One legend says, when Prince Jonas was digging this out, he had a team of men who cast spells on the rock. Nice to have wizards on your side, eh?”

“That depends. Tell me more,” I urged him.

“Another legend says these wizards linked the city down there to the throne, as if draining life from these lost men to give power to the prince. You know the last head of the dungeons, the man named Ramzi?” He whispered the question.

“Yes?” I said.

“One time I was on guard and Ramzi came in here. He kneeled right there.” The guard pointed to a spot near us, by the rim of the pit. “He lit some candles and stayed on his knees for a long while. He said strange words I could not understand, but he said them like he meant them, like it was a prayer. I think Ramzi believed all these legends. You know he threw hundreds into this hole. Maybe thousands. I think he thought those men gave him power, and gave Tryst power.”

“Do you think Ramzi was right?”
 

“Oh there’s usually some truth in a legend, but I have my doubts.” He held up a clenched fist. “I’ve never seen a man who could move rock without muscle and a tool.”

“What about the link between the Gloaming and the prince?” I asked.

“I don’t believe in magic, my prince. This cave is as real as dirt, no matter how smooth the stone is. But I do believe this place is cursed. We hear the screams from down in the pit.” His voice grew quiet. “They’re faint, coming from so deep, but they echo in here something mighty.”
 

“Why would it be cursed?” This guard sounded like he knew more than the archivists. He’d breathed this air a long time.

“I think it’s been cursed from the beginning. We all learned about Prince Jonas as boys. The man was like a machine. He chewed up his servants, swallowed everything good, and then spit the rest out like husks. I bet he worked his men to the death down here. He probably made them chip away this stone with shovels until their bodies gave out. I’ve looked close at these walls. I’ve seen thin lines, as if a man dug his fingernails into the stone and dragged them down as he collapsed and fell into the long sleep.”

The guard shuddered and closed his eyes. It was silent as I waited for him to continue. “That’s dark work,” he said, his eyes still closed. “Darkness was poured into this dark pit. Then men are thrown into these cages and into this hole. They writhe and scream and die down here, without anyone knowing but us guards.” His eyes blinked open and fixed on mine. “But, like I said, you probably know all that. Are you going to do something about it? Stop the curse?”

“We are going to get all of them out,” I answered, “and then I’ll bury all this. It is taking a long time, too long, to figure out the details of what to do with these men once they’re back. But I’ve ordered no more men be sent, and better food be dropped. Have those orders been followed?”
 

“Yes, my prince,” the guard replied. “We have not heard the screams lately. I do not know how to explain it, but it has felt a little different down here.”

I nodded, imagining the effect of more food in the Gloaming. Ramzi sprang into my mind. I wondered what he had done by the pit. “Where did you say Ramzi kneeled to pray?”

“Right there, my prince.” The man pointed to the spot again.

“Thank you for talking with me.” I clasped the man’s shoulder. “We’ll end this work, and I’ll make sure men like you get to see the light of day.”

His face brightened. “Something like that would go a long way to lifting a curse.”

“We can hope,” I said. “Goodnight.”

“Farewell, my prince.” He bowed and moved back to his post.

I went to where Ramzi had knelt, and I dropped to my knees. A curse. That sounded right. A curse was an expression of evil, just as light was an expression of a divine good. This curse was bigger than Ramzi. It was bigger than me. The Gloaming had to break, or the nightmares and the curse would go on. It would hang around my neck and the neck of every prince to come. I rose to my feet and began my climb out of the dungeons. I needed more help.

Chapter 17

STRAINED PRAYERS

“The strength of the people

acts only when concentrated;

it evaporates and is lost as it spreads,

like the effect of gunpowder
 

scattered on the ground,

which catches fire only

one grain at a time.

The least populated countries
 

are thus the best suited for tyranny.

Ferocious animals reign
 

only in deserts.”

Japha had the right guard. He held his spear parallel to the horizon that he monitored across the dunes. No man would approach His Excellency’s right without Japha seeing him. Nothing would touch His Excellency without killing Japha first.

He had survived marches in this stretch of desert. The absence of motion and the quiet of the night were reasons for more caution, not less. A full host of twelve royal guards joined this march. Eight of the guards scouted the surrounding desert. Four of them, Japha included, protected His Excellency and his four guests, Malam, Ilias, Seban, and the Valemidan concubine. Japha would not question His Excellency’s decision that she join them, or that they laughed and talked together. It was not his concern. Nothing interfered with his duty. He listened for any sound beyond their ring of protection.

Japha was thankful that Dassa had the front guard. Dassa had survived more of these missions than anyone, and he had the scars to prove it. They needed that experience, because this was the left guard’s first mission with His Excellency. That guard would have no name until His Excellency gave it.
 

A year ago, Japha had earned his name. He had succeeded in his first mission, and Dassa had been there to see it. Japha, like the new guard tonight, had long been a leader among the elite trainees. Dassa had given him the honor of escorting His Excellency as soon as his age allowed. He had been sixteen.

Sixteen and naïve, Japha thought. Naïve to the threats of the desert, despite a life of training and study. That night he had taken the front guard, responsible for seeing threats first. He had walked proudly before His Excellency. He had walked them straight into an ambush, right over a man hidden beneath the sand. Just after he had stepped past the body, the man had risen like a buried ghost, spear plunging toward His Excellency.

His Excellency had ducked under the ambusher’s attack, and Dassa—the right guard that night—had run his spear through the attacker’s gut, pinning him down to the sand.
 

By that time, Japha’s training took over. Six other ambushers had attacked them. Japha had killed three of them, and Dassa and the other royal guards finished the others. When they had returned safely from the voyage, His Excellency had named him
Japha
, which meant overcomer. He had failed to detect the ambush, but he had overcome his failure with force. He would always carry his name as a reminder. He had failed His Excellency once, and he would never do so again.

The attackers had been outcasts. Former soldiers gone rogue, likely for their disobedience. Touching a woman was the most common cause. Touching the drink was second. Once outcast, a Sunan soldier was sent into the desert and forbidden to return to the city. Few survived, but those who did lived for little else but revenge. When Japha had seen how desperate those men were to take the life of His Excellency, it confirmed the teaching that these missions were no test, no game. They were divine service.

Tonight’s march saw no attack. They reached the sacred pyramid several hours after leaving Sunan. Good speed on a good night, a special night. It was a blood moon, and His Excellency would turn eighteen tomorrow. He would assume all the power that was rightfully his, and his council would remain only as advisers, not as rulers. After the ritual here, nothing would separate His Excellency from the divine.

Once they reached the base of the pyramid, Seban gestured for the guards to join His Excellency and his four guests at the top of the pyramid. This was a surprise. Japha was in awe as he began following them up the enormous stairs of the pyramid. He had never before been selected to guard the holy chamber. Dassa flashed him a quick smile from above. He must have suggested this to Seban. There was no higher honor. Japha kept his eyes alert as they climbed, scanning the stairs below, the desert beyond, and the surface of the pyramid around him.
 

By the time they reached the pinnacle and waited on the platform outside the chamber, even Japha was winded. Dassa returned a moment later and gave the signal that all was clear inside. Dassa showed no hint of fatigue. He let out a bellow from deep within his bare, battle-worn chest. The call meant that His Excellency had arrived, safe and ready to commune with god. The ten guards left below would secure the perimeter.