THE NEXT DAY their morning conversation quickly lulled into a pensive silence (once again forcing him to reflect upon the rash decision to come along). The only thing that made him feel slightly less aggravated with himself, was the consideration whether it had truly been his decision in the first place. It seemed unlikely Tzelem would have ever bent to his will if he’d decided to stay in the fortress. Exiting the gates with everyone’s blessing had appeared to be an obvious opportunity to regain his freedom, but now he was further away from where he wanted to be, with every passing heartbeat.
The only option, it seemed, was to reach Tzelem’s destination as quickly as possible. This wasn’t to say he had any ambition of actually completing the mission. Both because it was of no interest to him, and because he obviously wouldn’t be fit for whatever task that lay ahead (it certainly wouldn’t have anything to do with harvesting, botany or unremarkable poetry). The best solution would be continuing to prove his uselessness on the way there, and so perhaps his master (ever so slightly more reasonable than before), would let him go. If he saw his mistake for what it was, he might even pity him, having stolen four years of his young life, and then risking it out of his own bewildered delusions. Isaiah would ask for nothing more than being taken back home to Delta to make up for this grand error. He would still hate him for what he’d done – but as long as he never had to meet with Tzelem’s icy gaze again, it would have to make them even.
Considering this, he knew there was still a chance he would instead grow angry and make him run off into the wilderness. Even so, he’d be better off keeping such an event as a potential problem for the future, than making it one he’d throw himself into voluntarily. And so, deciding to stay put and follow along, he figured it’d be worth asking some questions regarding their overall route. Even if his knowledge of geography was limited, he could at least get an idea of how far and how long they would be riding for – how long he would need to survive out there.
“I thought you understood when I said we were going south – all the way south.” was the only itinerary his master provided, his long back crumbled forward as they’d seated themselves in an open area of fallen pines during that evening.
“I have never been very far south, Master Tzelem, and it has been some time since I’ve laid eyes on a map of Araktéa.” With a slight shiver to his tightened lips, Tzelem did not immediately respond to this. Instead, he stared into the fire he’d decided to light up that evening, though Isaiah felt it was no colder than it’d been the night before.
“We are going to the Parda.” He finally announced underneath his breath. His eyes still fixed on the flames as if it was speaking to him – telling him things of unease and despair.
“The Parda?” Surely, Isaiah thought, even if it might be for the very first time in his life, Tzelem needed to be joking. The first time he had heard any mention of the place, had been from the songs and screams of children running around the fortress’s courtyard. He hadn’t thought anything of it, till hearing it mentioned once again in the Captive’s Cave. Neither source being particularly credible, he had asked Rim. According to her, it was indeed as real as the two of them combined, for her brother had been among the few who’d entered, and he’d come back telling the wildest of stories. Being a man of a particularly serious sort, and not having told a single tale all his life, she’d concluded the Parda had changed him forever. These dramatic implications had for the first time made Isaiah doubt her intelligence, and he’d regarded it as pure village lore.
This didn’t stop people from talking about it, of course. At times the tales were so disturbing they kept him awake at night, and so finally he had found the courage to ask Lady Huxley herself – though he suspected she’d find him foolish for even entertaining the idea. “The Parda exists, but it is no different from any other forest. Do not believe everything you hear in the Captive’s Cave, Isaiah.” She had responded quite plainly, to which he’d said that he didn’t, and then thanked her for confirming what he already knew.
With even less belief in these tales than before, he had continued listening to them more peacefully – for the sake of entertainment and inspiration. A subject that often led to heated discussions, circled around what was truly hiding in there – ranging from terrifying monsters to gold and magical treasures of all sorts. Some even believed the fountain of youth was hidden in there, but it all seemed like absolute nonsense to him. Just when he thought he’d heard all the fantastic tales that could possibly be told of the place, the most disturbing one had been presented one night in the Cave. If nothing else seemed certain about the Parda, everyone had agreed that Ares had been the last to enter, and that he had stayed inside for longer than anyone in modern times. Isaiah’s father had been gone for nearly twenty years now. Some claimed he’d lost his mind and was still wandering about its wicked paths. Others said the Parda had devoured him alive and that he now haunted the place like another one of its many phantoms.
All Isaiah himself knew was that Ares had run off before he’d been born. His assumption had been that his grandfather simply did not know where he'd gone, but seeing that this forest did exist, it didn’t seem a complete impossibility. The rumor did not excite him, as he had no desire to find a father that had left him and his dying mother behind – to chase danger and fantasies of hidden treasures. Nor did he have any faith that anyone could survive for that long inside any forest, without being killed by someone or something. To him, it was easier if he remained dead, and as to where and when, he’d rather not know.
“You do not believe in the tales, do you, master?” Regardless of his skepticism, Isaiah knew he needed to choose his words carefully – no man liked the implications of being gullible, men like Tzelem, even less so.
“No – I do not believe in tales. I only believe in what my eyes and my gut tell me.”
“I see.” Isaiah wondered what his gut had said about bringing him along. If it was because he knew he was Ares’s son, he certainly needed to be a fool. Had a so-called legend like him gone there unsuccessfully, it was unlikely his untrained offspring would make it any further. It was said that before him, only twelve brave souls had successfully gotten through its thorn bushes. This didn’t need to be true of course, and Isaiah hadn’t believed it was either, until Byron had added one important detail to his tale – all of them had been taught by the same teacher. A man once considered the most brilliant academic alive – Master Raziel Mongoya. Growing up, his grandfather hadn’t spoken more highly of anyone. He had been his teacher before the revolution, and so, he was certainly very real.
“What is it we will be looking for in there, exactly?” he asked. There was a strange tension in the air, and he didn’t like the sound of the fire or the way Tzelem’s eyes seemed consumed by it.
“None of your business for now.” He muttered, marking an end to the conversation. Seeing they were on a mission on the Patron’s behalf, Isaiah assumed Lord Huxley thought it to be gold or possibly these jewels. Other than his Patroness, fine wine and hardworking captives, these were the things that seemed to be of interest to him. It made him wonder whether the lady had been oblivious of it. If she’d intentionally lied about the Parda or that (as the intelligent woman she was), simply thought the legends to be just as ridiculous as he himself did – hopefully, this was the case. He couldn’t imagine she would allow him to leave knowing there was this kind of danger involved. Unless, of course, this was why she’d seemed so distressed.
Out of the twelve, it was said seven had survived the Parda but had come out “stuttering and half-brained.” He could understand how obsessing about finding a non-existent treasure might have such an effect. If this was all there was to it, he might survive. On the other hand, he knew there were smaller things than beasts and sorcery that could kill a man. It took no more than a deceptive plant or the spark of a fire blowing in an unfortunate direction - the possibilities of dying on the way alone, seemed rather endless. Yet, he couldn’t do anything but follow Tzelem for now, with a slim string of fate he might save him from whatever laid ahead.