Aster Wood and the Lost Maps of Almara (Book 1) (18 page)

My mouth fell open. I took several steps backward and turned to look out of the bars opposite where they stood. Several more men on the other side of the dungeon held out their hands for me to see. I spun around; I was surrounded on all sides by what could only be servants of Almara, now prisoners. Above each symbol, on the soft side of their forearms, numbers were marked into their skin.
 

3333-135

3333-189

3333-096

And on. And on. Thick scars stuck out from where the numbers had been carved into their flesh.
 

“We have all been here,” said the voice slowly, “for a long time.”

I moved back to the side the voice had come from, and now a man stood there, clothed in rags the color of ashes, skin and bones.
 

“The Stone,” he continued, “gives long life.”

Horror came over me as I considered what he was saying. The Stone?
 

“How long have you been down here?” I asked.
 

He did not answer. I gripped my fingers tightly through the mesh of the cage.
 

Up until this point my reason for chasing after Almara had been simple; I wanted to go home to my own world. But while I had been hungering for the comforts of home, I had also been having quite an adventure. My time in the Fold had become increasingly difficult, but I couldn’t deny that it had been amazing. Now, faced for the first time with the harsh reality of the evils that were transpiring in these worlds, right under the feet of its inhabitants, I pushed aside all thoughts of home for the first time.
 

I would have to help them.

“How do I get out?” I whispered through the cage. “Is there a key?”

“No, no key,” said the man, raising his hands and gripping the bars, “but there is magic in that cell with you. Find it and you will find your escape.”

“What am I looking for?” I asked, my eyes darting around the cage. I quietly began picking up pieces of silver, inspecting each closely.
 

“It’s not silver you want, boy, but wood.”

I stopped my searching and looked up at the man. Wood?

“What can a piece of wood do?” I asked. “Is it some sort of wand?”

“No, it is a staff. It has been many long years since I last saw it,” he said, sadly.
 
“They tried and tried to unlock its power, but could not do it without me, and I hid my associations with it well. Eventually they gave up their efforts, but they knew that they still had a mighty weapon should anyone ever determine how to wield it. It has been buried in the hold among the other treasures for a hundred years. It will be nearly as tall as yourself. Look there, underneath the pile of tapestries.”

I did, and after a few sweaty minutes of peeling back the woven artwork one sheet at a time, I found the wood. The branch was entirely common and dull. It lay on the stone floor like something dead.

But as my fingers neared the staff it came alive, raising off the ground, floating, until it met my outstretched grasp. The wood was warm to the touch, and that warmth radiated through my fingers, up my arm and into my chest, where the heat lingered and swirled over my heart. I stood and held the staff out at arms length, inspecting it carefully. Never in my life had I heard of something like this happening. When Kiron had made me the backpack, I had been impressed, surely, stunned by something solid becoming invisible before my eyes. But holding the staff was different. The way it made my body feel, warm and safe and…powerful. This was something new.

I gazed at it for several long moments, turning it around and around in my hands, eagerly studying every crevice. Behind me I heard a muffled sound, but I was so entranced by the staff that I did not turn around.

“Boy!” came the sound again. I spun on the spot; the prisoner looked at me with agitation.
 

“Oh!” I said. “Sorry.”

His eyes bored into mine, studying my face. “Am I going to be able to trust you with that, boy?” he asked.

“Trust me?”
 

“Yes, trust you. I haven’t been waiting down here for two hundred and eleven years to give all my power away to a thief.”

I gaped at him.
 

 
“But how?” I asked. I still didn’t understand how the power of the Stone worked. “How can a rock bring you long life?”

“A rock?” croaked the man. “The great jade Stone of Borna is a little more than just a rock. It is a magical object more powerful than any I’ve ever learned of in the Fold. From the Stone an elixir can be drafted. Drinking it fills one with its power. It can heal wounds. It can bring the gift of years. A gift that becomes a curse over time. Cadoc has forced it on us since our first days here.”

My mouth hung open again, and I shut it quickly for fear of looking like an idiot.

“But how did you end up down here in the first place?” I asked.
 

The man’s eyes hardened, bitterness etched into every line of his face, and his eyes pierced into mine as he spoke.
 

“When Almara fought Zarich for the freedom of Stonemore,” he began in a hoarse whisper, “those of us who followed his teachings fought alongside him. Almara had been carrying the stone on his quest, and while we knew not where he journeyed to, we knew we had to defend him at all costs. In that battle the Stone was wrested from Almara, causing all to despair. It was thought that the Stone would be the key to healing the land. After he fled the city, all of the remaining Almarian’s found refuge in the deep mazes that snake through the alleys above.
 

“But our relief did not last long.
Zarich
,” he spat the name, “or shall I say,
Cadoc
, had found some new magic, perhaps from the stone itself, and with it he drew us out from hiding. One by one he captured us, locking every one of us into these cages until no followers of Almara remained on the surface. We had hoped that Almara would come back for us, free us from this misery. But he never came. No one ever came.”

My neck and arms were covered in tingling chills. “But there
are
followers!” I blurted out. “I met one and he helped me find the way down here.”

“Now I think
you
are the mad one,” he said wryly. “No followers of Almara remain in Stonemore. Cadoc’s magic would have found them all long ago.”

“Well, I don’t know why Cadoc didn’t find him,” I said, “but there is one person up there who still believes, and he and his family before him have never been discovered.”

“I think you must be deceived, boy,” he said after considering my words. “I do not see how this is possible.”
 

“Look, I know that this man is a follower,” I protested. “He gave me the map of the dungeons, and gave us shelter from Cadoc’s army on our first night here.” He looked at me skeptically. “You’ll just have to believe me. This man is on Almara’s side.”

“Us? There are more of you?” he asked.

“My…friend. We both came to Stonemore together.”

“What are the names of these men of whom you speak?” asked the prisoner.

Here I paused, not willing to give up Kiron or Chapman’s names, especially to someone with such a murderous look in his eyes. I stalled.

“Why are you here at all?” I asked, “Cadoc has kept you down here for…centuries? Why?”

His face fell into a harsh grimace. “In his mind, we belong to him. He keeps us here, right next to his treasure. His greed has kept us imprisoned and the city starving. We are not men to him, but trophies, a reminder of his victory over Almara. He would rather feed us just enough to keep us alive, his collection, than feed his own people up above.”

It was disgusting. I tried to stay calm, but the revulsion I felt at learning of Cadoc’s horrific acts was overwhelming. The chills on my neck turned to ice, and a deep, true fear about the feasibility of my task began to creep into my mind.
 

“Now,” he said, “you may be unwilling to give up the names of your companions, but as I have already asked you once, will you show yourself to be trustworthy with that trophy? Will you release us from our torture?”

I didn’t move, thinking again of Calder and his creepy warning about the prisoners. But these were just men. Seemingly magical men, yes, but they were tortured, cursed souls. Cadoc’s treasures. Surely anybody imprisoned for hundreds of years by the power of one evil man would turn and fight against him once released. They were on our side.

The wood pulsed beneath my fingers, sending warmth where the chills on my skin had driven it away. And my decision was made.

“No,” I said, “No, of course I won’t take it. It’s just that I’ve never—it feels so—it’s amazing.” I was distracted from our conversation again, and my gaze fell back upon the wood.
 

“Thank you,” the man replied. “A full year to craft it and I should expect that it would have such an effect. Now, if you don’t mind, I think the men and I here would be appreciative of a little holiday from this,” he gestured around the room, “
paradise
. Enjoyable as it’s been, I would be most thoughtful of you to liberate us. After you free yourself, of course.” He gestured to the staff.
 

“Oh! Yes,” I replied, breaking out of my stupor. “What do I do?”

“Touch it to the gate,” he said, “and that should be enough.

Could it really be that simple? I nodded and walked over to the cell door that imprisoned me and the treasure. Feeling somewhat stupid, I clumsily tapped the lock with the staff. To my surprise it sprang open, and the gate swung free on its hinges. I cringed at the loud creaking it made, but after a few moments of frozen silence I tentatively stepped across the doorway.
 

I turned in the direction of the man I had been speaking with, and, making it to his cell, quickly released him from it. He stepped out of the cage, and a grim smile came across his face.
 

“Thank you, boy,” he said. “It has been too many years since I saw the sun. I hope that this day my eyes will see the outside world once again.” His face had changed noticeably. The creases in his skin were not cut so deeply as they had appeared to be just moments before.
 

“You’re welcome,” I said.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Aster Wood,” I told him. There was no reason I could think of to lie to him.

“Ahhh,” he said, “Stars and Earth. That is a fitting name for a follower of Almara. And only a true follower could have used the staff in such a way. I am Owyn Gildas, follower of the sun, and of Almara.” He held out his hand for me to shake. I did so, and though his bony fingers were cold, I felt the touch of friendship in the greeting. If he recognized my name, he did not show it.

“May I?” he asked.

“Oh! Yes, of course!” I said, handing him the staff.
 

He took it, his fingers running up and down the carved wood lovingly, as if it were an old friend he had never expected to see again. Then, turning, Owyn spoke, much louder than I thought he would dare or was wise.

“Friends!” he boomed across the dungeon. “Our day has come! The staff has been locked, lifeless and unreachable in the silver cage while we have been locked in our own jails. We have wasted down here in the earth for these centuries, waiting in vain for a follower to come give us our freedom once more. Today, finally, that wait has ended. ASTER WOOD!”

The men all shouted together, “ASTER WOOD!”

“ASTER WOOD is our savior today.” Owyn lifted the staff above his head and, swinging it in a wide circle, each and every dungeon door swung open. The men ambled from the gates and shuffled over to where we stood, gathering around us.
 

“Today,” Owyn continued, “we will be free once more. But our fight is not over, friends. We must fight for not only our own freedom, but for the freedom of every soul living in Stonemore. Are you ready?”

“AYE!” shouted all of the men together.

In the brief silence that followed their affirmation, another sound could be heard echoing through the dungeon. The keeper was hobbling his way down the aisle, shouting as he went,
 

“What’s going on in here? What do you think you’re—” He froze, seeing the horde of men, all free now, standing in the aisles. I could see his brain working furiously to understand what he was looking at, but it took him too long to process it. Before he could turn to run the men were upon him. For a moment I worried that they would kill him right there. But they simply dragged him, kicking and screaming, to the treasure hold. Two of the larger men held him while a third reached into his pockets for his keys. Then each took one arm of the keeper and threw him into the cell so forcefully that he toppled the heavy pile of books. The gate crashed shut, and a roar of cheers burst forth from the prisoners.
 

“Now, brothers!” bellowed Owyn. “It is time!”

With a cry of fury the men ran for the exits, half in one direction, half in the other, as if the entire event had been planned for many long years. Owyn paused and spoke to me.
 

“Wait in the outer hall until all of the men are gone. The Shield will be so busy trying to beat them back that they won’t even notice you. You must find the man in black and take back the book. The book of codes is our only path to Almara, if he still lives. Then, together, we must find the Stone of Borna and destroy it. If we don’t, Cadoc will live on, and all of Maylin will be lost.”

“But,” I said, confused, “if we destroy the stone won’t it kill you?”

“It will, eventually, yes. But its destruction is the only way to ensure the destruction of Cadoc as well. He cannot die while the stone exists and rests in his control.”

“Yeah, ok,” I panted.
     

“Meet me on the north side of the city,” he continued. “The gates will remain open for mere minutes after we have surfaced. We will flee from there, and discuss our plans once we are clear of danger.”

Everything seemed to be happening at warp speed. It had not been my original intention to release a horde of angry prisoners into the city to fight The Shield, and while I was happy to do so, I now worried about both Kiron and Chapman’s safety. I decided I would have to trust Owyn to get them beyond the walls.