Truthful Roots by Victoria M. Steinsøy - HTML preview

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

TRUE ROOTS

THE NEXT DAY, all of them were pleased to see it was raining a little less than the last, and that subtle cracks of faded sunshine beamed its way through the clouds along the way. There was not a lot of light. Much too little to produce even the faintest rainbow, yet it brought enough hope for them to sing songs as they continued rushing down the stream at a horrendous pace. When the stream finally came to an end, much further south than it usually did, they all clung to the ground and swore they’d never go near a fleet again.

“We’re in Zura territory, Nic…” Harvey said, looking more concerned than relieved to be close to their so-called allies. “Though my guts would like to tell you otherwise, we should split up and move towards the villages as fast as possible.”

“I promised Liv I’d do all I could to get her boys out of there, and my memory tells me we’re at walking distance from the Huxley fortress.”

“Nic, I’ll only tell you this once – that’s a damn foolish idea. Liv is sharper than any of us, but when it comes to these things...” Harvey rolled his eyes and shook his head, water drops sprouting of his now dark, red hair. “That new lordling is an uncourteous dog – if he gives word to Nagár that we’re here...”

“I see your point, Harvey. Still, we all need to rest and there aren’t any villages for miles. We’ll storm the gates and find him before he realizes we’ve even arrived. The Huxleys are not exactly known for their arrow-proof guard system.” Harvey sighed loudly as he looked up towards the sky.

“As thy wish then, m’lord.” He said, bowing before him (only half sarcastically) before whistling for all the half-fallen men to continue the march on their own two legs.

As the cavalry arrived at the fortress, after battling winds and a soaking, hungry ground, they were relieved to see there were no guards to keep them out. The gates were closed, but simple enough for forty men to break open. Two dogs came running at them when they did, but Isaiah soon recognized them as Dusk and Violet. It seemed they recognized him as well, as their barks and flickering teeth turned to a rather hysteric recognition. It was a more effortless takeover than any of them could have imagined, or endured, right then, but it added to their confusion. Nicholas split them into four groups, each searching one of the buildings before finding themselves back on the empty courtyard.
“Where to in Araktéa has everyone gone?” Emory asked, and Devus looked discreetly towards Isaiah.

“Do you know of any secret chambers we might have missed?”

“Yes, but I doubt that’s where they are.”

“That’s where I’ll end up if the Huxleys get their hands on me,” he thought solemnly. Looking around, he felt it seemed so much smaller than before. A tiny, pointless and hollow place – an actual prison.

“Maybe they lost their senses and ran away and hid in some cave….” Harvey suggested.

“Should we search the area around here, Nic?” Emory asked.

“That won’t be necessary… Harvey is right. I think I know where they are.” Isaiah said. They all looked at him expectantly, and then Nicholas nodded and commanded twelve of the men to join him as he marched over to Captive’s Cave. When he entered, it felt like going back in time. Most of the regulars were there, and the Cave was as warm and humid as ever. Some guards were there too – drunk and unconcerned by the sight of the intruders. One of them got up and offered drinks, which some Dabárians gratefully accepted – they’d had a long few days after all.

“Where are the others?” Isaiah asked.

“Some were taken away, mostly the women and children… the rest, I think, are either in the chambers… or in the basement, trying to manage the damn flood.” Isaiah didn’t even know they had a basement, but according to the drunk man (whom he’d forgotten the name of), there was indeed one underneath the main building. Rushing his way over there by himself, he met Nicholas.

“We’ve found Lord Huxley. I need you to come with me and talk with him.” Isaiah felt the nausea he’d had on the fleet returning. He didn’t have the slightest idea what to tell him about his brother. Though no longer his slave, being back there made him feel he was about to be badly punished.

“Alright.” He stuttered, somehow feeling as loyal towards Nicholas Teague as if he’d known him his whole life.

“We should tell someone to go to the basement in the meanwhile, there are probably some captives down there.”

Nic led him to the ballroom, where he explained they’d found the Lord drinking and playing card games with himself. They’d bound him to a chair (thought it’d hardly been necessary) and seeing him almost made Isaiah feel embarrassed on his behalf.

“Well, isn’t it my best worker? I knew you’d come back!” Lord Huxley’s ruddy face lid up as Isaiah entered. He looked like he wanted to stand up and drag the chair along with him, but one of the two Dabárians behind him laid a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Sit down.”

“I am not so sure if I like your new friends very much, however. What is it you think you’re doing – bringing all these obnoxious northerners here?”

“So much for being in the Lord’s good graces,” Isaiah thought.

“We need you to tell us where Lady Huxley is, my Lord – and the missing captives.”

“I already told them. Celeste went with our guests after the event. She was meant to take care of some… diplomatic matters I believe. What, I cannot recall. Oh, and they brought some captives with them too, those greedy, high-born capitalers...” He rolled his eyes, frowned and looked over to a half full glass of wine standing on the table to his left. Walking closer, Isaiah saw the wood had dark, oval marks from where he’d left it before. Though his moderate drunkenness wasn’t uncommon, it was hardly ever so excessive he would neglect his furniture.

“What happened at the event, Lord Huxley?” He asked.

“Oh, it was the most marvelous evening – you should have seen it. Amazing dancing, great drinks – really, Nahbí wine at its best… you may try some if you like.” He nodded in the direction of some green bottles spread around the table. “If you’d pour me a glass too, that’d be lovely.”

“No, thank you.”

“I forget – never much of a drinker, this one.” He said to Nic, who gave him a hard, spiteful look.

“We need to find your wife, Lord Huxley. You must know something more specific about her whereabouts.” He said.

“I wish I did. In fact, if you could go and get Celeste back for me, that’d be stupendous – I’ll give you gold for it, and I’ll forget how rude you were for just marching in here like… savages.” He smiled stiffly, and then he closed his eyes, starting to hum the tune of a song.

“I swear to you, if you are playing a fool with me, you will regret it. You’ll be better off telling us everything you know, so we won’t need to hand you over to our much less merciful allies.” Nic said this slowly enough for it to reach through Lord Huxley’s veil of drunkenness, his eyes, two, green merciless holes.

“Whatever is it you’re talking about? Know about what?” Lord Huxley asked and Isaiah sighed.

“He’s not lying.” Nic turned towards him.

“Are you sure?” Isaiah nodded. Lord Huxley wasn’t playing a fool anymore than Nicholas was playing a commander. It was not only his excessive drunkenness, and the dazed look on his face that told him this. He’d sensed it from the day he’d arrived there and chosen to ignore it, like he’d ignored so many things in the past.

“Yes. He doesn’t know anything.”

“I do know some things,” Lord Huxley argued.

“He knows of poetry… all imaginable sorts of wine and jewels – but he doesn’t know anything useful for now.” Isaiah thought out loud, and just as surely, Devus entered with a quick, loud announcement.

“We found around twenty people down in the basement, Tim and Byron were among them. They’ve recruited quite a few people.”

“You know Timotheus and Byron?” Isaiah asked.

“They’re my aunt Liv’s sons.” The triplets – or at least two of them - were among the insiders there. He was about to ask whether Archilai was too, but Lord Huxley was faster to ask his own pressing question.

“You haven’t come here to take any more of my captives from me, have you?” he whined and perhaps for the first time Isaiah felt true sympathy for Tzelem, as his brother clearly didn’t have any concerns for him at all. He probably barely remembered the fact he’d ridden out. The dead knight would lay and rot in and nobody would miss him – just like the guardian had predicted.

As they walked outside to meet with the remaining two of the triplets in the basement, Isaiah spotted Rim – looking lost as miserable, right by the clay oven, in the middle of the courtyard, where she’d used to prepare their meals.

“Rim, what are you doing out here? You’re going to get ill.” The elderly woman looked at him wide-eyed as he appeared before her.

“Isaiah.” She said, grabbing hold of his arm and pointing her crooked finger westwards.

“Archilai is out in the fields.” In their peculiar raid, they hadn’t even bothered checking the fields, as it was unthinkable that anyone would be harvesting during the storm. He’d expected they’d find him in the basement with the others, but then again, the fact that the strange man was somewhere else completely didn’t sound all that unlikely.
“There is somebody else out there. I will meet you in the basement in a bit.” He told Devus, who nodded and brought the old woman with him.

Out in the fields it was pouring even more violently. Mostly he had to look down at his feet, trying his very best not to soak down into the mud. Finally, scouting outwards, there was nothing but water, soil and drowned roots. “She must have just been confused.” he thought, and he was just about to let the wind carry him back, when he heard someone calling his name. It was Archilai’s voice, coming from inside the small forest next to the fields. Prowling his way towards it, he sensed an unsettling turning in his gut. Something wasn’t quite right about it – why would he be out in the forest in this weather? He then remembered one of the things he’d told him that day – “You don’t need to know why I do the things that I do just yet.” Back then, he hadn’t really cared about the things that Archilai did – he’d mostly only cared about being left alone, but now he found himself much more curious. If he was one of the insiders, it made sense why he’d been so eager to make him escape. Perhaps he’d known all along that captives would be taken away during the event. Perhaps he also knew where.

“Archilai…” he finally spotted the back of his head, or rather – the peculiar hat, that couldn’t possibly provide shelter, as it was raining from several directions at once. “Archilai, what are you…?” he stopped himself from finishing the sentence, as his attention was taken by a large, moving tree standing in the middle of the common looking oaks. He hadn’t seen it from the fields, but it was at least fourteen feet high – its bole thick as a house.
“Don’t be afraid, lad.” Archilai assured him, and he took a step back.

“What in the nine hells is that?” he asked, for it wasn’t swaying the way any tree would do in a storm. No – by the very first sight of it, he could tell it was moving its branches by its own will – as if it was dancing. As if it was truly alive.

“That’s the seed you planted.”

“No…” he stuttered. “No, that’s impossible!”

“I’m afraid it isn’t… you can’t trust strange things given to you by just any gardener, lad.”

“I…” Isaiah stuttered, and he walked closer in pure amazement. He wasn’t quite sure how long it’d been since he’d thrown the seed away in anger – but it had to be no more than sixty days. Trees didn’t grow in sixty days and perhaps even more importantly – trees didn’t move like this one did. Not even in the Parda had they swayed like that.

“Listen lad, what I am about to suggest to you is going to scare you. But trust me, this monstrous thing will tell you things – they’ll be hard to hear, but I assure you none of it will be lies.”

“Tell me things? Whatever do you mean by that? Let’s get away from here!” He had to scream for his voice not to be drowned out by the sound of thunder.

“You need to let it catch you.” Isaiah looked at him, his large, blue eyes looking even larger and bluer than usual. He had shaved his beard, which made his cheekbones stand out like two, dull knife blades.

“There is no way… you’re mad!” Isaiah turned to look at the tree again. Of the many things nobody had ever taught him, one of them was that you should never turn your back to a mad man, and as many other things, it was a lesson he was about to learn the hard way.

Archilai, who had long since learned that some people needed a bigger push than others, gave him the strongest one he had left in his skinny limbs. Isaiah fell forward in the mud, and before getting a chance to even grasp what had happened, wild branches grabbed a hold of him. He screamed. He twisted and battled against the hardwood binding his legs and arms – but there was no battling nature of this sort. The tree had none of the white bear’s mercy and soon enough, he found himself all consumed by it.

“I’ve been waiting for you, seeder.” He heard a voice say, as he felt his body falling against a hard, cold surface.
“What is happening? Who are you? Let me out!” There was a wicked laugh filling the dark space he found himself in.
“Do not worry, seeder – I’m the Tree of Truth, and I’m here to enlighten your tiny mind on big things.” Isaiah stumbled around, just to discover there was no space to truly stumble. He could barely move. He’d left the Parda without any prophecies – with no ancient secrets, or knowledge beyond his grandfather’s confused words. Now it seemed it had caught up to him. Exactly what it was, he wasn’t sure of. All he knew was that it seemed to have been planted by his own hands, and as much as he struggled, there seemed no way of escaping it. At last, he found himself in a dark chamber of his own creation, and so it seemed there might be answers for him this year after all.