Exiled (3 page)

Blood wept from wounds covering most of his body. With each step, James left a puddle of blood in his wake. Despite his best efforts to protect his skin from the ferocity of the giant-leaf plants’ underbellies, he had failed. There were too many. He only hoped he could find the edge of the forest before he bled to death. If the needles of the plants were poisonous, he surely would have felt it by now. He knew he must keep moving, so onward he trod, to his death or to salvation from this godforsaken forest. The forest began to spin, and his breath came in short gasps. He focused on something in the distance and realized he was looking at a body of water. He began to run. The feel of air passing over his injuries brought tears to his eyes. He plunged through the last line of plants and onto the sandy shore. He ran for the water, which rippled in the breeze.

The instant he submerged his ankle he let out a cry he believed himself incapable of. The seething, burning pain of his wounds dwarfed anything he had ever felt. His legs weakened, and he fell into the water. For an instant, the pain reached its apex. He tried to cry out again, but water rushed into his lungs. He quickly got to his knees and coughed up the salty water. Blood surrounded him like a halo on the water’s surface. Small fish began nibbling at the shorn flesh of his legs. He tried to focus his eyes, but he could only make out blobs of white. He closed them tight. All he could feel was the gentle pressure of the water encasing his body. James opened his eyes. This time he could make out the beach and the forest behind. To his right, the sandy shore wrapped around and out of sight until it was consumed entirely by the water. To his left, the sand tapered into small rocks, which grew into boulders until cliffs rose up in geometric pieces as if a beast fell dead and all that remained of its carcass was its spine.

Could this be a lake?
he thought. He couldn’t imagine a lake being so vast that the opposite shore wouldn’t be visible on a perfectly clear day. He decided he was lying in an ocean.

He trudged slowly out of the water onto the beach, not noticing that the wounds covering his body only seconds ago had healed. James hadn’t seen anything living—save the oversize plant life—since he’d regained consciousness hours, perhaps days earlier. Suddenly he began to feel his body move. Before he could resist, he was lured down the coast by an invisible band toward cliffs far in the distance.

His body acted yet his mind lay dormant. It was neither present nor aware of the actions of his body as he crawled over the rocks that gave way to boulders, and then to the base of a cliff. When he’d reached the cliff face, whatever had a hold on his mind withdrew.

James looked around quizzically. He remembered being in the water, but he couldn’t recall how he came to be standing atop a large rock at the base of one of the lower sections of the cliff. He looked out over the water and considered his situation.

He had been exiled to The Never
.
He had only learned fractions about The Never during his studies. One of his instructors had surmised it was created by the greatest sorcerer history had known. The instructor had also said while people could go there, only one had the ability to return: the creator himself. It was for this reason those convicted of the worst crimes were exiled there. Akil had said even less about The Never, most of which was shrouded in underlying meaning James had been unable to comprehend.

He thought about everything that had been taken from him. Without given a chance to explain, a chance to defend himself, he was cast out never to see anyone he cared about again. That which he and all of Akil’s followers had been fighting for would fall to ruin. Alvaro would have his war and anyone who refused to join him would be killed or exiled. James wasn’t sure which one of those choices was worse.

Anger swelled inside him. Barefoot and naked, he climbed. Despite his uncertainty about his motivation for climbing to the top and what he expected to accomplish once he got there, he continued. Nearly falling to his death on two occasions— once when he grasped a loose stone and the second when his legs started to cramp—didn’t deter him from reaching the top of the first stone formation, the lower end of the spine.

Not waiting to catch his breath, he moved along the vertebral protrusion that extended toward the water until he reached the end of the first stone formation. The space between it and the next was well beyond any distance he could jump, and the fall to the rocks below would surely be fatal. He turned, hoping to gain a clear view beyond the high-growing trees. James was taken aback at what he saw sitting less than a half league offshore at the end of the stone spinal formation. A magnificent castle hewn into the granite on which it rested sat at the end of the spine like the skull of the ancient beast. He nearly stumbled down onto the rocks below trying to get a closer look. Its walls, battlements, and towers were carved from the darkest black granite he’d ever seen. It stood alone in the water. Waves pounded the base of the island, which James found odd because no waves fell onto the shore or against the cliffs below. Protruding from the stone at the base of the castle were thornlike juts of rock that curved slightly upward, daring anyone to attempt entry.

James knew instantly that he must get inside. The moment his eyes took in the black, polished stone he felt a longing for it. It pulled at his every emotion, quickly supplanting his desire to find a way home. He could feel his yearning as if it were a living thing pulsing through his veins. It coaxed him forward again, nearly pitching him off the side and into the rocks below. As he looked down to make sure his footing was stable, he realized he was still without clothes. He also knew he needed shelter and food before beginning his journey to the black castle.

Considerably further past the castle in the water was a large land formation. From his present vantage point, he could see that it connected with the main land upon which he now stood. It was a vast distance away and offered no geographical advantage to gaining access to the castle. Of the mainland, James could only see the massive trees in the forest and an outcropping further down the beach that blocked any view of what lay beyond.

Looking into the sky to determine the time of day, he realized he couldn’t see the sun. The entire sky was bright white. He couldn’t hold it in his gaze for long without his eyes beginning to hurt. No shadows fell on the ground beneath him, or anywhere for that matter.

Perplexed, he climbed down the opposite side of the cliff to the shore, always keeping the castle in sight. He wanted to be inside it more than he’d wanted anything in his entire life.

The muscles in his legs began to cramp, reminding him that he must find fresh water. He reluctantly decided to walk along the shoreline until he found a reentrant that may lead him to fresh water. He rubbed his chin as he walked and realized that the facial hair that had eluded him up to this point in his life had grown thick since his exile.

The beach curved away from the spine. Grudgingly, James turned his back to the black castle. But every minute or so, he looked over his shoulder to make sure it was still there. Looking ahead, he realized that he would have to enter the forest once more in order to find water. He glanced back at the castle, resisting the temptation to run into the water and swim to its base. He bid it farewell, promised a swift return, and then stepped into the forest, leaving the black castle behind.

A young woman walked hesitantly into the room. The dark and confining entrance opened into a large, vaulted chamber. Sconces lined the walls. Their dancing light gave life to the shadows. In the center of the room was a circular stone fire pit. Embers cast an orange glow onto the face of the man who sat on the far side of the pit.

He was so old she couldn’t guess his age. The closer she stepped, the older he looked. By the time she reached the pit, he looked as if his flesh would blow away with the slightest breeze before he could mutter a word. She’d heard of him, her husband had seen to that.

He had summoned her, and she’d been told that he hadn’t summoned anyone in over a generation. Rumors spread like wildfire around the small village where she had been staying. Onlookers peered out of darkened doorways as she passed. Whispers in far corners resonated like cicadas on a summer night.

As was tradition, according to her husband, she bowed ever so slightly as her bare toes touched the edge of the pit. The man let out a slow breath, and Margaret sat on the stone floor. The moment her legs touched the ground a shadow danced across the old man’s face, wiping away the fragility and leaving behind that of a much younger man. She smelled an unfamiliar fragrance emanating from the fire, and her head began to spin. Shadows and light blurred together. She reached for her head, but before she made contact, the feeling subsided.

“Why are you here?” the old man asked with a hoarse whisper in a tongue she knew she could not understand—yet she did.

“You have summoned me here, Sir,” she replied.

“Please let us agree to continue with the understanding that no question asked should be hastily answered. Think, understand, speak.”

Margaret nodded.

“Why are you here?” he asked again.

There was an extended pause before Margaret replied, “Doubt.”

“And what is it you doubt?”

“I was raised in a world of certain truths,” Margaret said after a lengthy pause. “Those truths have been tested. Absolutes left with my childhood. Now all that exists are beliefs and convictions.”

“So, after years of ignorance you’re finally coming around?” he asked and grinned slightly.

“I confess nothing. I’ve seen or heard nothing that has convinced me this is the correct path.”

“It is not a path of right or wrong, my dear. Many right people trod this path, and, unfortunately, there were some who were not meant to follow it at all. Something has tested what you believed to be true, otherwise you never would have come.”

“I seek answers.”

“Unfortunately it is not answers I give. I am but a seer. What beholds you is more than any one person should bear. It is not my place to decide if those with whom I speak are strong enough to grasp what I tell them. It is only my place to tell them.”

Margaret nodded. She’d gone from feeling confident to insignificant to terrified in less than a minute. The man took another breath. He looked up at her for the first time. His eyes appeared to glow brighter than the embers reflecting in them.

“Your son will not be ordinary. Much tragedy will befall him. Those he holds dearest will be lost. He must be given the strength to endure the pain this will bring. I see greatness. I also see malice . . . anger. How he rises from the horrors that will plague him will determine the path he follows. No skill shouldn’t he acquire. No knowledge should be withheld. He will be tested. Whether he passes will fall on your shoulders as well as his father’s.”

“His father,” Margaret murmured instinctively.

“While you may believe otherwise, his father has much to teach him. Lessons that can only be passed from father to son. Your son is weak. Strengthen him. There is little time.”

The man exhaled and lowered his head. He did not speak again. After several minutes, Margaret stood, turned, and padded across the floor toward the exit. She slipped on her sandals and made her way back up the narrow earthen steps that wrapped tightly along the side of the boulder just beyond the entrance. The only signs of her escorts were several massive paw tracks in the damp ground.

Margaret reflected upon her brief meeting as she walked down the leaf-covered hill to the main path. She thought of her husband, James Lochlan Stuart III, who had directed her here. Roughly a year ago something changed in him. Prior to that, he would have been considered a staunch traditionalist. Never had he politically deviated from the doctrines of his family. That is, never before he met the man, Ogilvy.

England. It’s so far away. How did I end up on the other side of the world?
she thought.
Was it true, this prophecy?
Her life had been turned upside down. Her beliefs shattered like glass with each piece of evidence that suggested this world did indeed exist. Instinct told her to follow her husband to the remote reaches of northern India. She clung to doubt because the alternative thrust her into a world she did not understand and Margaret must maintain control. Now a new path lay before her. A path which neither she nor her husband controlled. For the first time in her life, Margaret felt powerless.