Chapter 10

Jesse hadn’t complained when they marched him through the hall of jeering rebels, when they made him sit on the cavern floor with his hands on his head, or when they searched him for weapons.

But when the blonde woman tried to take his walking stick, he grabbed it back. This is worth fighting for.

“So, the meek one finally raises his head,” the woman said, a smile curling onto her face. “Interesting.”

“I need this to walk with,” Jesse said stiffly, pointing to his crippled leg. They couldn’t take the staff from him. It was all he had to remind him of Kayne—to remind him of home.

The blonde woman frowned, seeming to notice his leg for the first time. Then she leaned over and ripped his right sleeve up. Jesse knew what she was looking for—the tattoo of the Youth Guard, branded into the shoulders of its members. “Why, this one is not of the Guard at all! How amusing.” She laughed, and Jesse’s face burned with shame.

“I’m glad you’re so amused, Sonya,” the other woman in the group said. This one had short brown curls and calm, wise eyes. “I, for one, am concerned.”

“And why is that, Anise?” one of the men asked.

“Because squads are made of four,” she replied, never looking away from Sonya. “We have one already.”

A spike of relief went through Jesse’s body. Parvel! He must be alive. “Here are two others,” the woman called Anise continued. “Where is the fourth?”

For a moment, Sonya’s cocky smile faded, and Anise pressed on. “Waiting outside with a troop of Patrol, perhaps, ready to attack if they do not return to the surface? Hiding in the tunnels to surprise us as we sleep?”

Now the party of rebels seemed to grow uneasy, muttering to each other. A few more joined the group, staring down at them with a strange mixture of fear and hostility.

“What of it, then?” Sonya demanded. “Where is the fourth?” Jesse looked at Silas and Rae, who were both staring straight ahead. He did the same. It would be to our advantage, he realized, if they believed an attack was coming.

“Recall,” Sonya said casually, “we do have your friend. Despite the insistence of my fellow leaders that we wait for the Nine to assemble, he is, I assure you, quite…disposable.”

“She died,” Jesse said immediately. “During training. I don’t remember her name—what was it, Silas?”

“Aleiah,” Silas replied. He did not seem angry with Jesse for answering. Parvel cannot die for the sake of one who is already dead. “Sixteen years old, from District Three, near the border of the Northern Waste. It was during an intense training run in the last week before the Festival.” He looked dully up at Sonya’s suspicious face. “They said they found her only a quarter of a mile from the end.”

“Convenient,” she snarled at them, “that you would lose a warrior so easily, then replace her with a cripple.”

She took back Jesse’s staff, this time with her hand on her sword in case he reached for it again.

This time, though, Jesse had greater concerns. “It’s true,” Jesse insisted. “Ask Parvel if you want a confirmation.”

“Send Cotter,” Anise said to one of the men. “The prisoner knows him.”

The man nodded and ran though an archway into another cavern. “May I have my walking stick back now?” Jesse asked.

“Why?” Sonya asked, eyeing him with suspicion.

“Because,” Jesse said, his face perfectly serious, “if I press the phoenix’s head, the wood falls away to reveal a sword.”

Sonya stared suspiciously at the stick. A few of the other Rebellion members chuckled. Realizing her mistake, she straightened and glared at Jesse. “So he’s a cripple and a jester.”

“What?” Jesse asked in surprise. He looked down at his left leg, as if surprised. “That’s right—I am crippled. That would explain the walking stick, wouldn’t it? I wondered, because the sword feature never seemed to work.”

More stifled laughter, especially from a man with a pointy black beard. Jesse made sure to remember his face. He may be one we could get on our side.

“You think I will stoop to accommodate one who insults me?” Sonya demanded, her face turning red.

“Oh, let the boy have his staff, Sonya,” the man with the black beard said dismissively. “It will do you no harm. Besides, you saw he’s not even of the Guard. What can he do to you?”

“Fine,” Sonya replied in disgust, “have it your way, Nathan.” She shoved the walking stick toward Jesse.

She snatched up Silas’ Rebellion stone instead. “I take it you found this where we kidnapped your friend.”

Silas didn’t answer. He just stared straight ahead in stony silence.

Sonya glared at all of them now, leaning in and speaking in a low tone. “We sent two men to dispose of you wretches. Only one came back. If I ever find out which one of you killed him, death will be a mercy for you.”

None of them said anything, but Jesse had to fight to keep from shivering. The look in Sonya’s eyes was pure hatred. If she knew Silas shot the arrow that killed her Rebellion friend…. Jesse didn’t want to think about what would happen.

“Here,” Sonya said, shoving the stone back into Silas’ hands. “Keep it. Let it be a reminder of who the strong and brave in Amarias really are.”

For a moment, Jesse was sure Silas was going to shout at Sonya or spit at her feet. But, although his face tightened, he still said nothing.

The man who had run into the cavern came back. “Cotter got the same story out of the other one,” he said.

“Good,” Sonya said, nodding in satisfaction. “Well, let’s get on with it! Tie them up!”

Three of the group stepped forward, tying the three intruders’ hands securely behind their backs. Sonya herself checked on Jesse’s, giving them a vicious yank before the knot was tied. “You watch what you say to me, boy,” she whispered harshly into his ear. “I and the others of the Nine hold all of your lives in balance.”

Jesse refused to acknowledge her. Or cower before her, like she probably wants.

“All right,” ordered Nathan, the black-bearded man. “To the pits.”

Jesse couldn't figure out who was in charge in this Rebellion base. First one member would give orders, then another. Maybe it has something to do with ‘the Nine’ Sonya is a part of.

They were practically shoved through the hall by a few men who, Jesse knew, would be ready to pull out their swords should any of them try to escape. Not that we would be able to do anything with our hands tied.

The hall led to a tunnel, which led to another, smaller hall. Jesse stopped to look around at it. Along one wall was a stone bench, or perhaps a platform. Before he could see more, the rebel behind him pushed him forward.

“Excuse me,” he said to the man marching behind him. “May I ask you a question?”

No one answered. Jesse decided to ask anyway. “What is this ‘Nine’ that everyone speaks of?”

“The Council of Nine,” a voice beside him replied. It was Nathan. “You might call it the ruling structure of the District Two Rebellion. There are, of course, nine of us. Most have already arrived for the spring gathering. The rest will arrive tomorrow.”

“The rest?”

“My wife and I are two of the Nine,” Nathan replied. “Another is Sonya. You’ve already met her, of course.”

“Pleasant woman that one,” Jesse said. And I suppose it’s not good for us that she’s in charge here.

“You gave her little reason to be,” Nathan pointed out.

“I thought it was amusing. And I didn’t say half of what I wanted to say.”

Jesse could have been imagining it, but he thought he heard Nathan chuckle. “Nevertheless,” he said, clearing his throat and coming to stand beside Jesse, “you and your friends would do well to make no more enemies. In the Council, the majority rules, and you will be facing plenty who wish you dead immediately.”

Suddenly, Jesse’s jokes didn’t seem quite so funny. “And the Nine will meet tomorrow?” he asked, just to be sure.

Nathan nodded. “Which means you may have only one day left to live.”

Cheery thought for a cheery place, Jesse decided as they entered the cavern that held the pits.

"Pits" was a fitting name. Unlike a formal prison, the Rebellion’s pits were two holes in the stone ground, each covered with a thick metal grate.

The rebels stopped them at the mouth of the first, largest pit. “Hold still,” Nathan commanded, jerking Jesse’s arms up. Although Jesse could not see, he guessed Nathan was sawing away at the ropes with his sword.

“Careful,” Jesse muttered, trying not to move. As the ropes fell away, he felt the welcome sensation of blood flowing back to his hands. “Thank you.”

One of the rebels knelt to the ground to unlock the grate. “No sudden moves,” Nathan warned all three of them.

What are we going to do, kick him into the pit? What would that accomplish?

The grate slid away and clanked to the ground. One of the men took down a shaky-looking wooden ladder, leaning against the wall, and shoved it into the pit. “All right, in you go.”

“How deep is it?” Rae asked.

“About six spans,” the man replied.

Spans. Jesse knew that was the unit of measurement in District Two, but he wasn’t sure how long it actually was.

Nathan glanced down at the pit. “If the tall one”—by that he meant Silas—“stood at the bottom and raised his arm up, he would be able to reach halfway to the grate,” he supplied helpfully.

Jesse peered over the edge. Though the light was very dim—only one of the men in the party carried a torch—he could see nothing but bare rock and shadows at the bottom.

“Not very welcoming,” he mused.

“You should have thought of that before you stormed our headquarters,” one of their captors shot back.

“I had other things on my mind while making that decision,” Jesse informed him, “like saving my friend’s life.” He assumed Parvel was being kept in the other pit, so he spoke louder than necessary. Maybe he’ll hear me.

“A lot of good that plan is now,” the man said, chuckling.

Jesse felt the irrational urge to whack him with his staff. Instead, he began climbing down the ladder while Silas held it. It was a slow, painful process, even when he tried to put most of his weight on his good leg. As usual, he felt ashamed for always being the weakest.

The others descended much more quickly. Jesse was just grateful that though it creaked loudly, the ladder held Silas’ weight. As soon as Rae, the last one, stepped on the ground, the ladder was pulled up. Then, with a loud clang, the Rebellion members closed the metal grate and locked it. The sound of heavy boots on stone and the fading glow of the torch signaled their retreat, leaving Jesse, Rae, and Silas in almost complete darkness.

The pit was large enough to fit perhaps a dozen prisoners, though Jesse doubted the secret hideout ever saw that many intruders. There seemed to be nothing in the pit but a few rock formations. Apparently the Rebellion did not see the need to smooth obstacles out of their prison pits.

“Everyone all right?” Jesse asked.

“Yes,” Rae said, next to him.

“Yes,” said Silas, a distance away. He was staring up at the grate.

“Yes.”

Jesse blinked. Did Silas repeat himself?

One of the rock formations moved, and Jesse almost cried out, until it began to speak. “You know, you really did not have to join me here,” a familiar voice said courteously. “The company was a bit dull, but, other than that, I was doing quite fine by myself.”

Jesse grinned in the dark. “Parvel!”

“Yes, Jesse.” He came closer. “And though I wish you were not here with me, I am glad you are alive. I was beginning to wonder.”

“Ha,” Rae scoffed. “No Da’armon riffraff could get rid of us that easily. You should have known that.”

“I was not worried about that, Rae,” Parvel replied, a hint of a smile in his voice. “I was more concerned that you and Silas would come to blows.”

Jesse laughed at that.

“Not to disturb the reunion,” Silas broke in, “but why are we still alive? They know we are Youth Guard.”

“True,” Parvel said, his voice immediately serious. “I am under the impression that only their Council of Nine can make a decision about us. That is why I have been held here for—well, it must be almost a week now.”

“Six days,” Jesse corrected.

“But what could they possibly have to decide?” Silas pointed out. “Their goal is to destroy the king. We serve the king.”

“Not anymore,” Rae said darkly.

That gave Jesse an idea. “She’s right. I wonder, if we told the Council the truth about the king—how he’s trying to kill the Youth Guard, if….”

“What?” Parvel burst out. “Did I hear you correctly?”

Of course. Parvel hadn’t been with them in the desert when Captain Demetri had told Jesse the real purpose of the Youth Guard.

“I’m afraid so,” Jesse said. He took a few minutes to explain what he had learned: that creating the Youth Guard was the king’s way of finding and eliminating the brightest and strongest young people in the kingdom who might rebel against his reign.

Silence for a moment. Then Parvel cleared his throat. “Well. That ought to make things more interesting.”

In a way, Jesse was disappointed. He was hoping for a stronger reaction from Parvel. “You don’t sound surprised.”

“My father was a member of the king’s court,” Parvel replied. “I did not know about his designs for the Youth Guard, but no evil report about King Selen surprises me. He is a twisted, corrupt man.”

“Do you think if we tell the Rebellion our story they’ll let us go?” Jesse asked.

There was a pause as Parvel considered this. “Perhaps,” he said at last. “It means we have a common enemy, at least. But many of the Rebellion seem very rash, almost….”

“Bloodthirsty,” Silas finished bitterly. “Like they want any excuse to kill, even if it means killing someone innocent.”

“I would not put it so strongly,” Parvel said, “but, yes, a few come close to that description. Among the Nine, I cannot guess how many would be on our side. I know one who certainly will not be: one called Roland.”

“How do you know?” Jesse asked.

“He’s a swaggering brute, pompous as a peahen. He came to visit me once. Yesterday, I think it was, although it’s hard to keep track of time down here. He insisted it would be of no use to keep me alive, because you would never consider coming back for me.”

“Well, here we are,” Silas said.

Parvel leaned back against the stone wall. “Tell me, what have you been doing since you left Mir?”

“That’s a longer story than I wish to tell,” Rae said. “Although I’m sure Jesse would be willing.”

“Here in the dungeon, time is one thing we will not lack.”

“First, your story,” Jesse said. “Tell us how you were taken from Mir.”

“Of course,” Parvel said. “Hector, one of the Nine, boasted about it our entire journey here. He and another man—Reid was his name—were sent to the crossroads at Mir to find our squad and bring us all here. They planned to ask for a large ransom in exchange for our lives.”

“It can’t be true,” Silas protested. “That man tried to kill you—would have killed all of us.”

“Perhaps so,” Parvel admitted. “But he was acting on his own, against orders from the Rebellion. Hector said he was quite the radical. He didn’t sound terribly sad about Reid’s death.”

Jesse shuddered a little, remembering back to that night. Silas, a stranger to him then, had appeared at his uncle’s inn, saying he had shot the man who had attacked them. Jesse couldn’t imagine treating death so casually. I wonder if I’ll ever have to kill anyone to defend my friends. He didn’t like the thought.

“At any rate,” Parvel continued, “when Reid didn’t return, Hector waited for seven days, as is customary for members of the Rebellion. He would have left town then, but for a bit of conversation he heard from a certain innkeeper who’d had a little too much to drink—a strange story about a sick Youth Guard member who was taken to a shack in the woods.”

“Uncle Tristan,” Jesse practically groaned. Why would he think his uncle would keep the three Youth Guard members’ secret?

“Once he suspected I was still in Mir, Hector simply waited for an opportunity. In my weakened state, I could hardly fight back when he entered my room.” Parvel shrugged. “After a few days of forced travel, they threw me in here.”

“We never should have left you,” Rae said. “None of this would have happened.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Parvel said. “I was the one who told you to leave. In any case, at least one good thing came out of all this. Hector is one of the Nine, and I believe we have a friend in him. We discussed much on our journey here.”

“And what happens if, by some miracle, we can persuade them to let us go?” Rae asked. “Where will we go?”

Jesse thought about that and realized with a start that he didn’t know. “We escaped from Captain Demetri twice before,” he said, “but only barely. We can’t go home, or we’ll endanger our families. We can’t go back to Da’armos, because we’re wanted for attempted theft and escaping arrest.”

“Then what do we do?” Parvel asked.

Jesse glanced at the others in the darkness. “We were hoping you would be able to answer that.”

More silence. “Well,” Parvel said, a bit more grimly. “I always say that when ideas don’t come, it’s probably time for sleep. You must be tired.” With that, he laid down on the stone. “Good night.”

But it was not a good night, not for Jesse. The stone floor of the pit was cold and uncomfortable, and a thousand questions tumbled through his mind, like a rock slide.

Go to sleep, he commanded himself, closing his eyes. You’ll never get the answers by thinking about them more.

Sleep wouldn’t come. At least, Jesse didn’t think it had. With everything so dark, the line between wakefulness and sleep was hard to distinguish.

Beside him, he heard Parvel muttering. “What are you doing?” Jesse asked quietly, so he wouldn’t wake Silas and Rae.

“Praying,” Parvel said. “Just like I told you I would. I haven’t stopped since you left me in Mir.”

“Oh. Well, it hasn’t done much good.”

“What do you mean?” Parvel asked incredulously. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

“And locked in the same pit as you!”

For a moment, there was silence, and Jesse felt bad for his harsh words. “I just don’t understand how you can believe in an invisible God.”

“You’re right. I can’t see God. But I can see what He’s done in my life.”

Jesse snorted at that. He sounds exactly like Noa, with all his talk of faith and a ‘greater story.’ “Then what is He doing now, Parvel? How could being trapped in this pit be a part of God’s plan?”

“Jesse,” Parvel said, “if I told you the medallion around my neck has a red dragon with an emerald eye on it, would you believe me?”

Jesse blinked at the abrupt change of subject. “Well, yes. You should know. It’s your medallion.”

“But I can’t see it,” Parvel pressed. “How do I know?”

The answer was simple, too simple, but Jesse gave it anyway. “The only reason you can’t see it is because it’s too dark right now. You’ve seen it before, when it was light.”

“And I’ll see it again, once there’s light again.”

“I suppose,” Jesse agreed, still a bit confused.

“It’s the same way with faith in God,” Parvel said. “I’ve seen God in the easy times, in the light. And even in the hard times, when I don’t see what God is doing, when I don’t understand, it doesn’t mean I never will—God just hasn’t chosen to bring it to light yet. He is still God. And I’m perfectly content to trust Him, even in the dark.”

Jesse thought about that for a minute. “I guess I don’t have your faith.”

“Sometimes a leap into the darkness is the only way to the light,” Parvel said. “You’re right. It takes faith. But I know God exists, as surely as I know light exists, even though I don’t see it right now.”

Jesse sighed. He was too tired for that level of deep thinking. “Good night, Parvel,” he said.

“Good night. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Very funny.” Jesse tried to get comfortable by shifting positions on the ground. It didn’t work. He closed his eyes anyway, hoping to dream about someplace warm and sunny.

The next thing Jesse knew, footsteps were coming toward them. He guessed from the impression of the stones on his face he must have slept, but he didn’t feel any less exhausted.

“Ah, we have a visitor,” Parvel observed, sitting up from where he was slumped on the ground. Then he raised his voice. “Cotter, is that you?”

“Yes,” a voice called in response. The orange glow of a torch came closer, and the round face of a young boy, framed with curly black hair, peered down into the pit.

“The son of two of the Council members,” Parvel explained to them. “Thirteen years old. He and I are friends.”

Jesse blinked in surprise. He wouldn’t have guessed the boy was any older than ten or eleven.

“Breakfast, I assume, Cotter?” Parvel glanced at Jesse. “The food here is terrible, as you might imagine, but it’s nice to talk to someone besides our bad-tempered jailers.”

He made the comment louder than he needed to, as if he expected the boy to laugh.

But Cotter shook his head. “Not this time, Parvel. The Nine have arrived. Father will be coming soon to bring you up and present you before them.”

“Ah,” Parvel said, suddenly serious. “And what do you think the verdict will be?”

“I don’t know,” Cotter said, looking at the torch in his hand instead of at them.

“Cotter,” Parvel said sternly. “A boy of your age ought to know to tell the truth, even when it’s unpleasant.”

The boy bit his lip. “I’m not sure,” he said, “but my father and mother are more moderate than most of the Nine, and even they don’t know what to do.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t think it will be good.”