Chapter 15

After five hours in his dungeon cell, Jesse had memorized every detail of it: every brick, every crack, every stain.

Not that there was much to memorize. The cell would take four steps to cross in any direction. Of course, Jesse was not permitted to cross the cell. He was chained firmly to the wall by his hands and his ankles. The guard who had locked the chains had enjoyed laughing at Jesse’s crippled left leg, even kicking it once. Jesse had responded by muttering a fake curse at him. The guard left him alone after that.

Near the wall where he was chained was a pot of dirty water that he assumed was used for drinking. There were two locks on the door, one near the top and another near the floor. A scorpion, dead for an indefinite amount of time, lay in the corner.

That’s one good thing about a dungeon with no windows, Jesse thought. None of those horrible katharas can reach it here.

They had taken the golden kalthara off of his staff. Some jailer will probably give the trinket to his wife tonight, Jesse thought wryly. He had been allowed to keep the walking stick. From the looks on the guards’ faces, he assumed this was because of his reputation for sorcery. But what good will my walking stick do when I’m chained in a dungeon?

A rattling of keys down the hallway told Jesse the hourly inspection had come again. That was how he was able to keep time in the prison. Each hour, a guard would check to make sure he was still there, still chained, and still miserable.

Sure enough, a figure in black came into view through the thick steel bars of the cell. The prison guards, as far as Jesse could tell, were the only Da’armons forced to wear dark clothing in the desert heat. Maybe that’s why they all seem to be so ill-tempered.

This one was no different. He unlocked the door to the cell, muttering under his breath, probably about all the trouble he had to go to for a foreigner.

Then he stepped closer. Interesting. The others acted as if they were trained to keep their distance, in case a prisoner got close enough to somehow steal their weapon.

Of course, Jesse had no such plans. He could hardly move his arms away from the brick wall.

The guard looked behind him quickly, then took another step toward Jesse. “I have a message for you,” the guard said, in heavily accented Amarian. “From the one who has no fear.”

Samar. Jesse concentrated on every word the guard spoke, knowing it would not be repeated.

“He says, ‘I have friends in high places. Fear not the vultures. Run to me when the time is right.’”

“That’s all?”

But the guard was already stomping away, making a show of locking the door loudly and deliberately. He marched back down the hall, leaving Jesse alone with his thoughts.

Samar must have a plan to get us out of here. But what? Jesse thought again of the words of the message. ‘Friends in high places.’ That must be the guard. But what vultures? And how will I know when the time is right?

Those questions, at least for the moment, had no answer, so Jesse pushed them away. He also refused to think of his parents, or Parvel, or Parvel’s God, or what would happen to him, or a thousand other unpleasant subjects that crowded his mind, demanding attention. He just stood in silence and stared at the wall like he had for hours on end.

Once, he had heard a traveler at the inn tell of the prison at Terenid, the capital of Amarias. The huge stone tower was crammed with people, all sleeping on the same rancid straw, fighting each other for the scraps of food that would be thrown to them every now and then.

This was altogether different. Jesse knew there would be no one to talk to or argue with, no one to discuss what might happen next, no one to help him if he got sick or cry for him if he was taken away to be executed. The Da’armons must understand the power of loneliness far better than we Amarians do.

Just when Jesse had realized he needed Rae and Silas, they were taken away from him. If you are there, God, if you really do exist, then show yourself! Do something! He threw the prayer up to the brick ceiling like he would throw a stone at a vicious dog.

There was no answer.

Time seemed to crawl by, so Jesse was surprised to hear more footsteps in the dungeon hall. Surely another hour couldn’t have passed already.

This time, though, there were three men: two guards, and the captain who had caught Rae, the one Samar had called Captain Demetri. Jesse refused to look at him and studied the floor instead.

“Yasim’et,” Captain Demetri ordered. “Leave us.”

The guards did not seem to appreciate this order, and they argued with the captain for a while. After a few harsh words, the captain seemed to have won, because Jesse heard two pairs of retreating footsteps.

Neither Jesse nor Captain Demetri said a word. Finally, Jesse couldn’t stand it any longer. He lifted his head to face the man.

Apparently that was enough of a show of weakness for Captain Demetri to speak. “They say you have no Guard tattoo on your shoulder,” he said.

Jesse said nothing.

“Tell me,” Captain Demetri said, “why were there only two Guard members in your party?”

Again, Jesse said nothing.

“The other two told their stories. I must see if your answer matches,” Captain Demetri said in a weary tone.

That surprised Jesse, and it must have shown on his face, because Captain Demetri explained, “Each one was most helpful when I threatened to kill the other two members of the group. You will do the same. If you do not give us this information willingly, we will torture the others to make sure they are telling the truth.”

“One member of the squad died in training,” Jesse said flatly. “Another is sick with poison back at the village of Mir.”

“Very good,” Captain Demetri said, apparently satisfied. “I don’t know how you got mixed in with those two, but my orders were for them and any with them.”

“What orders?” Jesse demanded.

Captain Demetri ignored him. “Your friend, the translator, will go free. He is partly of the Da’armon people and claims that he knew nothing of your scheme.”

“What orders?”

“Kill the Youth Guard members who came through my town,” the captain said bluntly. “And that is what will happen. Even if I had not been here, you would have been executed by the Sheik for your pathetic attempt at theft.”

Jesse studied Captain Demetri’s Patrol uniform. It looked genuine, not like a homemade copy.

“Where did you steal the Patrol uniform?” Jesse asked bitterly. “It’s an excellent disguise for a member of the Rebellion.”

The captain laughed, a deep laugh that somehow seemed familiar. “Is that what you think?”

Jesse blinked, caught off-guard by the sudden laughter. “I don’t understand….”

“No, you don’t. Of course you don’t.” Captain Demetri said softly. He got a far-off look on his face. “They don’t want you to. Even I didn’t understand at first.”

“What do you mean?”

Captain Demetri smiled slightly, and Jesse got the feeling that he enjoyed tormenting him. “All I will say is this: I have learned that you must be careful who your friends are. They may well be your enemies.”

There was silence for a moment as Jesse thought about what Captain Demetri had said. What does he mean? That the king is our enemy? “No,” Jesse said, with more conviction than he felt. “You’re lying. Silas said all those in the Rebellion lie.”

“That may be,” Captain Demetri said with a shrug. “But if it is, it is because everyone lies. Do you hear me, boy? Everyone. Remember that.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

A grim smile from the captain. “It is a good question. You will not live long enough to learn these lessons, true though they are. The Sheik has ordered that the three of you be given the death penalty for your crime.”

Though the cell was still boiling hot, Jesse felt a chill go through him. Captain Demetri turned to go. “Wait,” Jesse said, deciding to take a guess at what Captain Demetri meant. “Why does the king want to kill us?”

Captain Demetri answered his question with a question. “Why do you want to know?”

Jesse shrugged, tried to act calm. “Curiosity.” When the captain still hesitated, he added, “You said yourself that there is no way for us to avoid our death in the morning. What harm could it do to explain to me why we are dying?”

“True enough,” Captain Demetri acknowledged. “All right, boy, tell me this—who would the king consider most dangerous to his authority?”

“The leaders of the Rebellion,” Jesse replied immediately, “or spies from other countries.”

“Yes,” Captain Demetri agreed, “but those are easy enough to deal with. If the Patrol even suspects citizens of being Rebellion members, they can execute them without a trial. Any charge will do. The difficulty is preventing people from joining the Rebellion in the first place.”

Jesse thought about that. It is true, I suppose. “But what does that have to do with us?”

“What is the function of the Youth Guard?”

Jesse repeated the answer he had heard since he was a young boy, “To accomplish great missions for the king.”

“Then why aren’t they given enough information to succeed at these missions?” Captain Demetri asked, his voice emotionless. “Why do so few survive, out of the hundreds who have gone out?” They were good questions, ones that Jesse had often asked himself.

“If King Selen had wanted an army,” the captain con-tinued, “those skilled in agility, strength, and battle tactics, he would have chosen his top Patrol members for these missions. But he wanted something more—the most intelligent, the most dedicated young people in the country. Why?”

Captain Demetri answered his own question, “Because those are the ones who, if they decided to take action, would be the most powerful force against him. He is afraid of your friends and those like them.”

The truth of it became clear to Jesse. All these years, he had thought the reason so few Youth Guard members ever returned was because of the danger of their missions. But now he knew: they did not return because the king did not want them to return.

He had always known the king was a greedy, self-serving man, taking half of their crops and many of their young men and women to use as his slaves, feasting while his people starved. It was one thing to cheat a nation of faceless peasants out of their living. But it was quite another to deliberately kill innocent young people, just to eliminate a potential threat.

“And so the king sends people like you to kill us,” Jesse summarized, disgust plain in his voice.

The captain’s hand went up to his chest, and he clutched something underneath his uniform. Then he shrugged. “Oldrivar lakita ses omidreden. Your friends must be prepared to reap the whirlwind that they released. They knew what they were doing when they agreed to join the Youth Guard. And, besides, I had very little choice. Someone else’s life depends on my obedience.”

“But that’s not right!”

Captain Demetri stepped forward slightly, scowling at Jesse. “Life is not right sometimes, boy. I’ve had to learn that the hard way.” He began to march away, then turned. “And this time, life has decided that you will die.”