THOUGH HAVING SPENT the night no more than half asleep, Isaiah woke up to an even darker morning than usual. Squinting towards the clock at the opposite side of the room (after all these years, still annoying him with its repetitive ticks and tacks), he saw it was only some minutes past five. Nevertheless, he slipped his feet onto the cool, wooden floor, sensing an unusual restlessness in his bones as he slipped underneath the bed to carve the wall. Pulling on his last set of clean clothes and slipping into the leather boots that were still a number too large, he made an effort to stay as silent as he could. The sound of unrhythmic snoring from his seven roommates remained, while the clock persisted its torment. Only within the last few “ticks”, the door creaking as he opened it, he heard them turn and murmur in discontentment. He was usually better at opening doors discreetly.
Walking outside and down the steep, stone stairs facing the courtyard, the air was chill and the sky still dark with the faintest touch of purple from the little he could see of the horizon. There was no bird song, and he felt himself missing it, just like he did every morning. The clay oven stood cold and abandoned still, and having less patience and hunger than usual, he walked over to the fields while rethinking the promises he’d made to himself some hours earlier, fading promises he felt far less clear about now, he realized. There was an urge to forget them and start plotting another day. Perhaps after the event, which he’d been interested to witness from afar. “Men in our family keep our promises.” his grandfather’s voice rang in his head and Isaiah sighed. He would need to begin today. Maybe he could begin by searching around the walls and find a place to dig a hole. Or perhaps start talking to the guards and find out about their weaknesses like Archilai had once done. Neither of these approaches seemed efficient to him. No, he’d have to think of something better, and he was sure he would by the time his sacks were full. The field’s, or the silence that was often found there, tended to bring him clarity.
To his relief, the fields were empty when he reached them, and didn’t have a man, dog or even a crow in sight. Archilai had kept his word in that regard, and he considered finding him in the afternoon and apologizing for what he increasingly felt had been rather ill-mannered behavior on his own behalf. Though not very fond of conversing, feuds were an unfamiliarity he felt particularly uncomfortable with. Though his bluntness had been unasked for, he seemed to be meaning well, and perhaps he’d been sincere about helping. Regardless, Isaiah still wanted to make the escape plan himself, and so he thought he’d wait till he had an idea, before seeking him out. Eager to fill his sacks, he started pulling up the starches. A few minutes passed as he listened to the satisfying sound of them giving in to his grip, before he heard the sound of light boots.
“Isaiah, Lady Huxley is requesting you.” It was the Lady’s gardener – the little man with the broken seed, that seemed to come and go with odd inconsistency.
“At this hour? What has happened?”
“I know not, but we should not let her wait.” He insisted, his face a map of confused lines and round corners. Shrugging, Isaiah left his sacks and walked along with the long-bearded man, who only reached him to the shoulders. Though he wanted to ask him about the useless seed, he instead worried the patrons had somehow overheard the conversation from the previous morning.
“Did she seem angry?”
“No.” he answered. “A little… tense perhaps.” Isaiah swallowed hard at this. They’d been alone. He was certain of it, and yet he had a strong sense he was in some sort of trouble.
Dressed in a yellow dress, patterned with golden flowers that could only be seen from up close, the Patroness stood, straight as a statue, waiting for them at the end of the fields. Her hands (the only thing Isaiah always allowed himself to admire of hers) were clasped together Infront of her. It was the first time he’d seen her out at this hour, and he needed to contain himself not to look directly at her face, as the first flares of dim morning light met with her radiant, olive tinted skin.
“Good morning, Lady Huxley.” He said, bowing and then keeping his gaze lowered towards the grayish, green grass as he straightened his back. Although unreasonable, he always watched his thoughts (along with his gaze), whenever she was around. There’d been rumors suggesting she could read and even control the minds of men, and as ridiculous as this sounded, he’d long since decided to be on the safe side of certain superstitions.
“It is a very good morning indeed. Tzelem has returned to us.” She said, her voice as sweet and cool as if she’d spoken of the weather. For the briefest of moments, Isaiah almost wished she could read his thoughts, and perhaps clarify exactly what it was they wished to tell him just then. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, then closed it again, feeling his cheeks flaring. Once again, the dead knight had returned to the living. After mumbling a response of vague comprehension, he walked along with her towards the main building in silence.
Minutes later, he was back in the same dining room where he’d first met the patrons four years earlier. It was half the size of the ballroom and seemed even smaller with its black floors and heavy, scarlet curtains. Next to the long, lacquered table in the center, stood the man that (though appearing older and slightly less muscular), was very much alive. His so-called master and teacher, who’d never taught him anything at all. The man that had taken him under his wing for some days, before riding off and abandoning him there. His brother’s fortress had been meant as a very temporary placement. They’d told him to blend in and not speak of why he was there, and so Isaiah hadn’t. Not once. It was not until everyone had started addressing the knight’s absence as his death two years before, Isaiah had stopped actively condemning him for his circumstances. The patrons had insisted he should stay till there were any further notice of Tzelem’s body being found and Isaiah had found himself guilty of hoping for such a message, until nearly forgetting about it entirely. Now, that he was standing before him, he felt the same, biting resentment returning. Had he come a few days earlier, he perhaps wouldn’t have reawakened it, but just as usual, the timing couldn’t have been worse for Tzelem Huxley.
“You’re alive.” Isaiah said.
“I am.” His voice was still deep, slightly rasp and so whispery, people needed to pay close attention when he spoke. “For now,” he added, his hard, gray eyes staring at him curiously.
“Where have you been?”
“I am sure you have many questions, Isaiah. Now is not the time...”
“It’s been four years, Tzelem.” He had to control his tone, reminding himself that though not a lord, it was indeed a knight he was speaking to. “One that owes me an explanation, nevertheless.” He thought. Not to mention an apology, although none of it could ever make up for what he’d done – or failed to do.
”I know. And it seems they’ve done you good,” the tall man said, still standing with his hands behind his back, measuring him from the head and down. “Now he looks like his father, perhaps the messenger was right, afterall.” Tzelem thought, and then he said, “I believe you’re ready to come with me now.”
“Come with you? Where to?”
“South.” Tzelem said motionlessly.
“When?” Isaiah stuttered. This had of course been the plan from the very beginning. Yet, the plan had felt as dead to him as his master had, and he hadn’t made even minor preparations to go on any mission that wouldn’t take him straight home.
“We leave tomorrow.” He didn’t smile with the statement, but his steely, narrow eyes seemed to lift ever so slightly, being about as much of a pleasant expression his long face was capable of making.
“Tomorrow?” Lady Huxley interrupted before Isaiah got the chance to. The sudden sharpness in her voice made him look directly at her face for a brief second – enough time to notice the anger in those large, dark brown eyes of hers. Khair claimed she’d arrived around the same time as him, nearly twenty years back now, but that could hardly be the case, seeing she looked so young still.
“There’s not much time, m’Lady. The sooner, the better.”
“Surely, you will need some days to rest. And you won’t want to miss the event – neither of you.” She protested.
“I sleep better outside...”
“Isaiah needs to get a chance to say goodbye to everyone. He has been here for four years – you need to give him some time.” The Knight cleansed his throat.
“Four years seems a long enough time to me, m’Lady. He has all day to say goodbye to his friends. There shouldn’t be too many of them.” Despite Isaiah’s disliking, he knew he was right. Except for a few of the young children, and perhaps the gardener, he had no actual friends – nobody to miss or to be missed by. Even less so now, after last night’s humiliation.
“It’s quite alright, Lady Huxley. This was the agreement.”
“Please, if you would like to stay, Isaiah, I will talk to my husband. As you know, he is quite fond of you - as am I.” He could see the edge of her mouth smiling from the side of his eyes. Lady Huxley never looked straight at him, but now she turned her head towards him ever so slightly.
“Celeste, please. This was the agreement. I need the boy.” Isaiah had not known her birth name till just then, and thought it sounded foreign. There were different opinions as to her origins, but it seemed she’d first come to the fortress as a captive too, and that Lord Huxley had fallen in love with her – “just like in a hero tale”, as Khair had described it. He’d been less convinced about this specific detail but hadn’t found the story itself too unlikely. From the little he’d permitted himself to see, she was a beautiful woman. Long, raven black hair, rose-red cheeks, and full lips that spoke with the sweetest voice he’d ever heard. Hers was a forbidden face only for the eyes of the patron, and from what it now seemed, his discourteous brother.
“The agreement was also that you would come back within seven moon spans.” She argued, and Tzelem took two steps towards them, favoring his left leg, Isaiah noted.
“Have you trained him, m’Lady? That too was a part of our agreement. Now, I see his puppy flesh has hardened, but has anyone taught him how to use a sword or a bow? How to hunt and navigate?”
“No.” the Lady sighed. It was the first time Isaiah had witnessed her unable to control a situation, and he felt an overpowering urge to protect her. “This is my way out.” He reminded himself, biting his tongue.
“Just like I thought. And so, since I brought him here, he will come with me.”
“Or perhaps we shall let him choose for himself, now that he’s a grown man.” Lady Huxley said, placing her jeweled hands on her hips as Tzelem looked at Isaiah expectantly. He froze for a moment, finding the presence of choice a rather unfamiliar matter.
“If it wouldn’t displease the Lady and the Lord too much, I would like to go with Master Tzelem - as was our original agreement.” Isaiah finally managed to say, only disguising his puzzlement to some degree. It seemed unheard of that he, as a captive, would be allowed to make such a decision for himself. “But I’m not really a captive.” He remembered. That had been a temporary agreement - a disguise of a sort.
“I see. Well then, my husband will be awake in a few hours and free you from your duties.” She said, once again, her composed self. It seemed she’d put up all the fight she was willing to endure for him. They had a great many captives, and the numbers had been increasing for the past moon spans, as the newest plague had people fleeing across the land. How many Isaiah was uncertain of, since they often came and went, but certainly more than one hundred and less than two.
“You may go now. I’ll brief you on the journey on the way.” Tzelem said, suddenly impatient.
“Go where?”
“Back to your roots, or whatever it was you were doing before.” Isaiah tightened his lips and fists, forced a nod and a discreet bow, before turning on his heel. He had a new master now, and he did not like this fact even in the slightest. Yet, there wouldn’t be any need to find holes in the wall or some inventive way to distract the guards. For a moment he allowed himself to wonder if the moon had truly heard him and given him a free pass to the outside. He was quick to correct himself, knowing that getting away from Tzelem wouldn’t be an easy task. There were still numerous matters and details in need for careful consideration. ”One step closer.” He told himself. No more and no less.
Returning to the fields, there were now four other men there. Three of them looking disengaged and still half asleep, and one of them being Archilai, appearing content and not doing much at all.
“Unlike you to break your routines, lad.” He commented.
“Tzelem is back and I will be leaving with him tomorrow,” he admitted, seeing no reason to hide this fact. He noticed the last bit of annoyance he’d felt towards him was gone, and that he nearly felt content to have found him there. Now he could apologize before leaving, as well as making a point out of the effortless development of the matter.
“Already?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“You should be pleased now.”
“Very much so. I think I’ve never had such quick results with anyone.” Isaiah shook his head, as he reached for one of his sacks.
“Cheer up, lad, I’m just messing with you. This is all your own earning.” Isaiah considered this, knowing he hadn’t done anything but agreeing with the only man he truly hated to assist him in some impossible mission (one that both of them should know he was nowhere close to fit for). It almost seemed a disgraceful escape attempt, but he wasn’t ready to feel ashamed about it just yet. Not until something went terribly wrong. “Which it might” he thought, and he feared it most certainly would.
“I am sorry for being crude yesterday. I don’t know what came over me...”
“Oh, don’t apologize, lad. Anyone would be a little defensive with a strange, old man approaching them during their sacred morning hour. If you add telling them they need to get their head out of their arses, the old man would be lucky not to get a fist in his face.” Isaiah snarfed.
“Truly, Isaiah, compared to most of the men I’ve met here, you have proven yourself a true gentleman. Those are rare these days…”
“Lord Huxley is the only gentleman I’ve ever known, and I don’t feel our characteristics overlap much.” Archilai chuckled at the comment.
“Not at all… Lord Huxley is a very special sort of gentleman. And his brother perhaps even more so.” Isaiah nodded to that.
“Would you mind telling me what sort of mission you two are heading out on?”
“I know nothing yet and even if I had, I’ve already been sworn to silence four years ago.”
“Of course. And as a gentleman, you should always keep your promise. Where I come from, keeping a secret and speaking truthfully, are equally important virtues. Probably like this stubborn patience seems to be in Delta.” It sounded like something of a contradiction, Isaiah thought, but it did perhaps explain why Archilai was the sort of man that he was.
“Would that be north of the Deltan river? In Dabár?” he asked.
“That’s a good guess, lad. We call it the Dabárian river. I was born on the western coast by the Pyrios ocean. Ever been there?” Isaiah shook his head. He’d never been anywhere but right where he was now and home.
“No, but you’re very fair skinned. Even more so than the triplets, and they keep reminding everyone they’re Dabárian.”
“Well observed, lad. Do keep in mind, we’re not all fair up north. Rim for instance, is Dabárian. Don’t let her thinning accent fool you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He promised, and finally the two of them smiled at each other, realizing that perhaps if it hadn’t been Isaiah’s last day, they might have learned to get along rather well.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it now. The potatoes will surely miss your attention more than myself.” Archilai winked, then placed two fingers in between his lips and whistled. The dogs came walking rather than running this time, like little gray clouds from afar.
“Remember, lad, dreams that are too wild and grand can soon turn into beasts.”
“Nothing wild about mine, I just want a peaceful life.” Archilai smiled thoughtfully.
“Now that is a wise wish, Isaiah.” He said, wondering whether peace could ever be obtained by someone with such a resistance to disorder. Having been wrong before, he nodded and strayed off, deciding he should not inflict the boy with the very same madness that had led him there. The world had changed in thirty years and its new saviors, it seemed, had very different paths ahead of them.