Fifthwind (43 page)

Ben
looked again at the splintered and unadorned door. It looked more
like the entrance to a storeroom than the gateway to a shrine. "And
through that door, I'm to face some kind of test?"

"You
will face fear, hate, sorrow and pain."

Ben
felt his chest tighten. Something told him that Cobalius was not
exaggerating his words. In this most sacred place of the Fahd,
Cobalius would not jest. Brimming with anticipation, Ben's heart
raced. He looked at Fahd Cobalius and took a deep breath and slowly
let it out again, forcing a weak smile onto his worried face. "All
that for me? And I didn't get you anything."

The
two men stepped up to the door and Cobalius loosened the chains and
lifted the heavy crossbar, which he set to one side against the wall.
The unimpressive door was worn and cracked with age, but it was heavy
in design and constructed of thick planks. The crossbar was banded
with steel and the chains, while rusted from seep water, were
formidable links of black iron. Then, Ben noticed what should have
been obvious. "Why is this room secured from the outside? That's
not the best way to keep unwanted visitors out."

Cobalius
reached for the handle and paused for only a moment before saying,
"The barriers are not to keep anyone out, but to keep you, and
other things, in."

"What
other things?"

"To
borrow a line from Fahd Madros," Cobalius smiled, "the things
that growl from within." He pushed open the door and the dust of a
thousand years wafted out into the entrance hall.

It
took a moment for Ben's eyes to adjust to the dimness beyond the
threshold, but it didn't take long for him to realize that he stood
at the entrance to a cave. It was small and lit by the pale radiance
of phosphorescent lichen that clung to the rocky walls. There was a
small pond near the back of the cave where spring water ran down
between the cracks of stone and gathered in a glistening pool only a
few feet across and only scant inches deep. The ripples on its
surface reflected back the dim light which then danced on the cave's
roof like waves of moonlight on the night sky. Again, there was no
furniture, decoration, or artifacts of any kind. Only a cold, stone
floor and the simple door.

Ben
placed a nervous foot over the threshold and then stepped fully into
the cave. Behind, Cobalius began to ease the door shut, but before
closing Ben off to his solitude, he offered a few words. "You
cannot hide from the truths you will face. Find the strength to
accept what you encounter and this will be much easier."

"What
do you mean?"

Cobalius
did not answer, and swung the door closed, cutting off most of the
light. Ben could hear the crossbar being put back into its place and
the rattling of chains that ensured that it would stay there. Then
there was silence, except for the beating of his heart that filled
the cave like a pounding drum.

Ben
moved to a spot near the center of the room, but not too close to the
water, which he imagined held terrors or creatures he preferred not
to see. A chill came over him, and he rubbed his hands up and down
his arms to warm himself. Despite the fact that it was winter and he
was high on a mountainside, he had not felt cold anywhere in Arlemon,
until now. In the pale light, he could see his breath as the cold,
heavy air of the cave settled in on him. Trying to conserve his
warmth, he knelt on the floor and hugged himself in a tight ball. He
rocked back and forth, never taking his eyes off of the foreboding
water of the pool.

In
the dim light and quiet surroundings, he quickly lost track of time.
He knew he had not been in the cave for long, but whether for a few
minutes or a few hours was beginning to blur together as
insignificant. He only knew that he was alone and that he was cold.
He subconsciously began to count as he rocked in place.

What
is it... to be deceived?

Ben
blinked twice and squinted his vision into the darkest corners of the
cave. The voice had been little more than a whisper and he was sure
it had only been his own thoughts. Except that he usually recognized
the sound of his thoughts, being a voice that had spoken to him for
all of his life. This, however, was not his conscience speaking. This
voice had not originated in his mind. He waited.

Again,
he became aware of the bitter cold of the cave. He began to grow
impatient and wondered how long he would have to wait before he would
be greeted, attacked, or otherwise have his presence acknowledged. He
was still a little apprehensive of the pool but was considering a
short venture to its side; whatever lurked there and whatever it
intended to do to him couldn't be worse than freezing.

Can
a thing be something more than it seems?

Ben's
breathing began to echo through the room. He knew he was alone, but
the voice was real. It was soft and distant, but as real and soothing
as a mother's whisper to a sleeping child. Still nothing stirred in
the water. Between shallow breaths, Ben whispered back, "I don't
understand."

A
shadow moved to his right, and he jerked his head around to see, but
could only make out the dim and rocky wall of the cave. He had always
trusted his instincts, and right now they were telling him that he
was not alone. A soft footfall to his left teased his ear and he
pushed away to the side and got to his feet as rapidly as he could.
The chamber was small and even though he couldn't see anyone, he knew
that he was no longer the only one occupying it. There was a presence
that he could feel. It was not due to any special skill, but rather
an awareness of personal space that all men possessed -at
least he assumed that everyone had a similar intimate perception of
their own immediate surroundings.

A
soft flutter of cloth brushed against his back and a faint shadow
moved across the far wall. He twisted around, but as before, he
confronted nothing but a dim and empty cave. Then, in a terrifying
moment that sent chills down his spine, the warmth of breath touched
the back of his neck with a single word.

Remember...

A
bright light engulfed the room, blinding him. He spun on his heels
trying to regain his bearing and reached out for anything that he
might find to steady himself. His hands met fabric and he grasped it
tightly. His shoulder was on fire with pain and sweat was running
into his eyes. He could smell dust and blood.

"It's
alright, Lieutenant!" a woman cried. "They're gone. You've killed
them all!"

Ben
opened his eyes and squinted in the brilliant sunlight. Almost
instantly, he knew where he was. The merchant district that ran along
length of the entire east wall of the King's palace was unmistakable;
it was as if he had walked these streets only days before. It was
late afternoon, judging by the long shadows that cast half the street
into twilight and touched the opposing half with a orange-gold glow.
It was his favorite time of day in Arden City, and he often took long
walks in the evening to calm his spirit and reflect on what he had
learned in his studies. But on this particular day, he was not out on
a pleasant stroll. The memory of this day was fierce and burned into
his soul.

He
looked on the ground around him and saw the bodies of four assassins;
their faces were covered with painted masks that concealed all but
their eyes. The trademark curved knives they carried were enough to
identify them as hired killers from the southern lands of the
Aristeed provinces.

In
a rush, the horror of when and where he stood came back to him. It
had not been that long ago and he still carried the scars, both
physically and in his heart. A tightness gripped his chest.

"Lady
Elaine. Where is she?" Ben pleaded, finally releasing the woman he
had grabbed in the street. When he moved his arm away, he winced in
pain and felt the warm trickle of blood from his chest, just below
the base of his shoulder. He crumpled to one knee.

"They
took her away, while you fought these," the woman said and spat on
the nearest body.

Ben's
heart caved in. Completely engulfed in the memory, he staggered to
his feet and cried out in anguish and spite, hurling his sword into
the nearby stone wall of the palace grounds. Safety had been just on
the other side of that wall, yet he had been unable to reach it in
time. He looked down at the nearest assassin and kicked out with all
his frustration and hate.

Tears
flowed freely down his cheeks and anguish lumped in his throat as he
was taken back to a time he had hidden from for so long. He had left
Arden City so that he would never have to face these memories again.
He had turned away from his life and accomplishments to hide from the
pain. He had loved Elaine. He knew that she was gone, and that her
body would be found beneath the cliffs at dusk. There was nothing he
could do. He had failed.

His
head swooned and he staggered. Exhaustion, sorrow, and blood loss was
taking its toll; a cloud passed over the sun and the world around him
swayed like an angry ocean before a storm. He reached out for
something to support him, but his breath exploded from his lungs when
his chest hit hard onto the dusty street. His wounds were severe and
his vision was darkening. Lying next to one of the assassins he had
killed, he was sure his fate would be the same.

Just
before losing consciousness, Ben noticed something unusual. The
sleeve of the dead assassin had moved up, revealing pale, white skin.
Questions swam through his thoughts as he lost the fight to stay
alert. The many peoples of the Aristeed provinces, including the
renowned masked assassins,
where a dark-skinned folk...

He
heard the trickle of water and opened his eyes to the darkness of the
cave. The vision he had been presented was exactly as he had
remembered it, with all the fury and pain and heartache he had tried
so hard to forget. Every detail was perfect, except for one. He
didn't recall noticing before that the assassins were
not
Aristeed men.

Ben
got to his feet. "Impossible! They killed her... those bastards
killed her!"

Witness...

The
room swirled around him again and a spray of water met his face. It
was dark and the wind was blowing. He looked down and saw water
lapping at his ankles. He turned his face skyward and watched dark
clouds moving slowly over a purple-streaked sky. Rising before him
were high, chalky cliffs that looked like ruffled curtains in the
dull light. Though the scene seemed vaguely familiar, he did not
recall ever being in such a spot.

"Here!"
a voice cried out from behind. "She's over here!"

Ben
turned and an overwhelming sense of dread came over him as he
realized what he was being shown. He stood beneath the western cliffs
in the evening tide-pools of the ebbed sea. A small group of
Kreggorian soldiers were gathered around a body that had just been
found in a tide pool.

"No..."
Ben stammered. He had graciously been spared this sight before, being
unconscious and under the care of the King's physicians. He had not
had to look upon her body on that fateful day, and he did not want to
do so now.

"Please,"
Ben cried. "Don't show me this!"

He
clenched his eyes shut and turned away. His fists were balled and his
knees were shaking. The evening wind was picking up and on it he
thought he smelled perfume and death. A torrent of anger welled up
inside of him. Anger borne from the memories of that horrible day,
and anger anew for being forced to witness something he should not
have to see. The very pit of his being was crying out in a
grief-stricken surrender.

"Is
it her?" came a distinctly noble voice. The murmurs of the gathered
soldiers and the whirring of the wind seemed to stop in unison as all
eyes turned to the stone-faced man who approached. "Is it my
daughter?"

Ben
lifted his eyes and watched as Diarmid, Lord of Meirnac approach the
group. He was a tall, handsome man of uncounted years. His hair was
an unfaded brown, but age had begun to touch the corners of his beard
with patches of white. The father of Elaine held his head high and
kept his shoulders back. He would not show sorrow or weakness in the
presence of these men. Ben watched as the King walked past him, and
knew that his presence was unnoticed. He was a witness, but nothing
more than a ghost, an intruder upon a scene forever lost in the folds
of time.

Ben
was shivering from the cold wet air, but was trembling from a
bewailing grief. Somewhere deep inside, he whispered, "
I'm so
sorry...
"

The
soldier who had found the body looked up at the visiting King with
fear and sorrow in his eyes. Only three nights before, Diarmid had
introduced his daughter at King Erlich's grand ball. He watched her
with pride shining in his eyes as she danced. Now, he would have to
look upon her with eyes of grief. The soldier slowly reached down
with one hand and gently gripped the body by the shoulder. With as
respectful a touch as possible, he turned the dead woman over in the
knee-deep pool.

The
King looked upon her face with steel eyes. He showed no emotion as he
held her in his gaze for what seemed an eternity. Without a word, he
nodded once, then turned and walked away.

Ben
could not discern if the expression he carried was anger, sorrow or
bitterness. All Ben knew at that moment was that he had failed and a
woman they both loved dearly was gone. Ben wished he were somewhere
else, but he understood that he had been brought here for a reason.
Fighting back tears of his own, Ben found the strength to look upon
his slain love.

There
in the cold, dark water of the receded ocean, he saw the face of
another. The body in the water was not Elaine. The murdered woman
given to the sea was not the Princess of Meirnac. Ben's heart raced
in excitement and confusion. Her father had just looked upon her...
why would he acknowledge this unknown victim as his daughter?