Timothy awoke to the stink of something awful.
Careful not to let anyone know that he had regained consciousness, he examined through slitted eyelids his surroundings. There were dwellings on the shore of the lake and others that were on stilts out in the water. He and Caiaphas were in a makeshift cage above the water. The cage hung by a thick rope from a beam that stretched between two of the structures on stilts. He was lying on his side and, from between the wooden slats of the cage, he could see three figures below him cleaning fish in the shallows near the shore of the lake. They were large, ugly fish with gleaming black scales and large, jagged fins that ran the length of their bodies, all the way to their wide tailfins. The horrible smell was coming from these grotesque fish as they were cut open and their insides tossed into the water.
The Lake Dwellers appeared to be a relatively primitive group, dressed in rough clothing that seemed to be made from the skins of whatever they could catch from the lake, and the woods beyond.
He opened his eyes wider now that he knew he was not being directly observed. Still, he was cautious not to move about too much. If the cage rocked, it would draw attention. Timothy craned his neck to get a better view of his surroundings. The village was a cluster of boxy wooden structures that sat upon thick wooden pillars above the surface of the lake. Platforms connected the dwellings, creating a network of wooden plank pathways high above the water. He was surprised by how unpolished everything seemed, and guessed that the use of magic here was minimal.
A low, throaty moan came from behind him. Timothy could not turn toward his companion without setting the cage in gentle motion and perhaps drawing attention, but he did twist his head a bit, hoping to get even a peripheral glimpse.
“Caiaphas, is that you?” he whispered.
“Yes, Timothy,” the navigation mage replied. “Are you well? Did you sustain any injuries in the attack upon us?”
Timothy wiggled a bit to see if anything hurt, and realized that his hands were bound behind his back with rope. His side still ached and the scratches on his face burned, and he had a bit of a headache from where he had been struck on the back of his head, but other than that, he seemed to be fine.
“I’m all right,” he answered. “And you?”
Timothy heard a sharp intake of air from the navigator that told him Caiaphas hadn’t been so lucky.
“They have injured my hands,” he explained. “I think . . . I think that some of my fingers have been broken.”
“To stop you casting levitation spells,” Timothy said, a sick feeling settling into his stomach. The Lake Dwellers might be primitive, but they were not stupid. He grimaced and stared at the workers below as they cleaned and skinned the ugly lake fish.
“I could cast spells,” Caiaphas explained, “but without the use of my fingers there would be no way to guarantee control, and I could injure myself, or cause the cage to fall, endangering us both. I’m sorry, Timothy, but escape does not appear to be in our imminent future.”
One of the workers below suddenly yelped in pain, and Timothy looked out to see that he had cut himself badly on the jagged fins that ran along the back of one of those ugly fish. The worker grumbled beneath his breath, plunging his wounded hand into the bloody water to clean out the gash as the others laughed at his clumsiness.
“That’s all right, Caiaphas,” he said, still watching the workers intently. “We’ll just have to come up with another way out.”
The worker who had injured his hand paused in examining his wound and glanced upward. He had heard their voices. Timothy cursed silently and tried to pretend he was still unconscious, but it did not fool the man.
“Awake at last,” the worker said.
Neither Timothy nor Caiaphas replied, so the man splashed through the water to shore. Reaching land, he climbed a ladder to a wooden platform and disappeared into one of the larger buildings.
It was useless now to pretend he was not awake, so Timothy turned his attention to the sight of multiple boats being paddled upon the vast lake. He watched with interest as those in the boats spread their hands before them and cast spells that wove nets of crackling energy that spread across the water. The Lake Dwellers may not have used magic for all things, Timothy observed, but they did use it to catch their food. He thought it was quite interesting how the importance of magic differed from culture to culture upon Terra. He had little time to pursue such interesting thoughts, however, for in that moment a figure emerged from the building where the injured worker had gone.
Grimshaw.
The Constable stood outside the structure, ebony cloak billowing in the breeze from the lake. Timothy could see the stump where his arm had been bitten off by Verlis, but there was no sign of the tentacle-like magical arm that had replaced it. The cat-creature stood at Grimshaw’s side, tipping its nose to the air and sniffing the wind. Two Lake Dwellers, one the injured worker, emerged from the building behind Grimshaw, and the three descended the ladder to the shore.
“Good morning to you, young sir,” Grimshaw called out to Timothy pleasantly.
“He is a vile man,” Caiaphas sniffed as he shifted his weight and caused the cage to sway.
“You’ve taken the words right out of my mouth,” Timothy agreed. He managed to rise to his knees, hands still bound behind his back.
“What are you up to, Grimshaw?” he asked defiantly. “What use are we as captives? I demand to know what you intend to do with us.”
Grimshaw’s barking laugh echoed out over the lake. “You demand to know?” he repeated as he regained control of himself. “Your insolence amuses me, freak.”
Timothy winced at the word. No matter how many times it was used against him, he could not deny its hurtful power.
“If it were up to me, we would not be having this discussion right now, for you would most certainly be dead,” Grimshaw said. Alastor had jumped to the ground and now padded out into the shallows as though it had little interest in their exchange.
“My master wants you alive,” the Constable continued with a nasty smile, “as a precautionary measure. He seems to think that you might prove useful . . . can you imagine that? Timothy Cade, freak of nature, useful.”
Master, Timothy thought. Then he remembered the words of the Lake Dwellers who had captured him, what he had heard them say as he’d lost consciousness. The name. Alhazred. It made no sense to him. Even if Alhazred was alive—which in itself seemed impossible—he had no idea what that ancient mage could want with him. Yet what if Alhazred was also the mysterious master Grimshaw referred to? Certainly a mage as powerful as Alhazred would have many allies, many followers. The Lake Dwellers were belligerent and cruel, just the sort who would associate with Alhazred. And Grimshaw . . . he was truly evil. Timothy shuddered at the thought that the cunning, merciless Alhazred might still be alive.
“Your master, Constable?” he said. “You mean Alhazred?”
He said it casually, as though it meant nothing. He spoke as though it were a fact instead of simply a guess.
The Constable was visibly taken aback by his question. Grimshaw glared at the men beside him. It was obvious they had thought him unconscious when one of them mentioned Alhazred, but Timothy was sure the Constable would make whoever had spoken pay for that mistake. When Grimshaw looked back at Timothy, he had recovered, and his expression was full of ridicule.
“Are you insane, boy?” he scoffed. “Alhazred has been dead for well over a hundred years.”
The Lake Dweller beside Grimshaw eyed him with wide, fear-filled eyes as the Constable remained eerily silent. Alastor hissed, charging out into the water toward them and crouching on his haunches as though to leap up at the cage. Grimshaw raised his one hand and snapped his fingers loudly, bringing the animal to an abrupt stop. It turned to look at him.
“Return to me,” the Constable commanded, and Alastor hissed ferociously as it eyed the prisoners before obeying its master and slinking back to his side. Timothy wasn’t sure if he had ever seen an animal quite as frightening.
“For now, your lives are perceived as having some value,” Grimshaw said testily. “But perceptions change.” The Constable pulled his ebony cloak about him and turned to leave. “When the time comes, Timothy Cade, I will be the one who ends your worthless life—of that, you can be certain.”
Timothy watched the man as he departed, climbing a ladder and then striding across a wooden walkway to the largest of the structures built on those pylons above the lake. When the boy was sure they would not be overheard, he turned to Caiaphas.
“How would you feel about getting away from this place tonight?”
* * *
Night had fallen, and a kind of celebration was going on in the village. Torchlight illuminated the entire encampment, and music drifted with the cool evening breeze coming down from the forest hills.
“I’m curious what they’re celebrating,” Caiaphas said as he shifted his position to get comfortable.
“Perhaps they had a successful day on the lake,” Timothy suggested. “Or maybe they’re celebrating our capture.”
“Do you really believe that Alhazred is alive?” Caiaphas asked.
“I don’t want to, but I heard what I heard. One of the men who captured us said he was their master. And you saw Grimshaw’s reaction.”
“Yes,” the navigation mage replied. “He was not at all pleased. Maybe it is true. For the sake of the world, I hope it is not. Most mages still believe Alhazred was a great man, but if even half of the stories about him are true, he was a monster.”
They were quiet for several minutes after that, neither knowing what more to say about this troubling news. Timothy heard a faint grumbling coming from Caiaphas’s stomach.
“Pardon me,” the navigator said. “But it has been quite some time since last we ate. My belly is telling me that a meal is long past due.”
“I’ve been wondering that myself,” Timothy said. “In fact, a meal will play a big part in how we manage to escape.”
“A meal?” Caiaphas echoed in disbelief. “How will feeding us—”
“Trust me,” Timothy said. “If we’re lucky, we may be free soon.”
“And if we are not?” Caiaphas asked.
“Let’s pray we are.”
Timothy was the first to notice the two shapes coming toward them in the distance. The two men were coming from the direction of the celebration, and one was holding two plates. “I hope this is what I think it is,” he said in an excited whisper.
“And so do I,” Caiaphas agreed. “Even though I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re up to, I’m still rather hungry.”
Timothy watched eagerly as the two men approached the shore and waded out toward them. The one who wasn’t holding plates had brought along a ladder that he balanced against the side of their cage.
“Are we famished?” asked the man holding their supper. “If I had my way, you’d not be sharing the wealth of our bounty this night,” he growled, starting up the ladder, one plate atop the other. He was an ugly man, covered in filth, and Timothy could not help but wonder when he had last bathed.
When he reached the cage, the filthy man leaned into the ladder and used his free hand to work the knot that held the door in place. “It’d be moss soup for ya if it was up to me,” he spat as he pulled the door open. “This meal is too good for the likes of prisoners.”
He set the plates down inside the cage and Timothy nearly yelped with joy, but managed to contain his outburst. They had been given fish to eat, the same disgusting fish that he had watched being cleaned in the lake below them.
“Thank you, good sir,” Timothy said. “Your kindness overwhelms me.”
The man growled, slamming the door closed and retying the rope.
“Wait,” Timothy called, struggling to his knees. “Won’t you undo our hands so that we can eat properly?” he asked.
“Eat like dogs,” the man said, and laughed cruelly. “If you are hungry enough, you’ll find a way without the use of your hands.”
He climbed down the ladder, laughing the entire time. They took down the ladder and soon both men were laughing as they splashed their way to shore, and headed back into the village to continue their celebration.
For a moment Timothy wondered about Grimshaw, and if he was participating. He really didn’t seem like the celebrating type.
“I guess we should feel lucky that they decided to feed us,” Caiaphas said, distracting the boy from his thoughts.
“We are very lucky,” Timothy told him, eyeing their meals. “They did exactly as I hoped.”
Caiaphas chuckled, shaking his head in mock confusion. “Perhaps now you will explain to me what it is that you were implying earlier.”
“Watching the Lake Dwellers today, I gathered that a large portion of their diet would consist of fish, and that if they fed us, we would likely be eating fish as well.”
“Continue,” the navigator prodded.
“Well, as you can see, I was correct.”
They both again looked at their meals. The twin fish were hot, and charred from being cooked over a roaring fire. Steam drifted up from the plates.
“I wasn’t sure how they would prepare them,” Timothy said. “But as I watched them clean their catch this morning, I noticed that it was their custom not to remove the sharp fins that run down the length of the fish.”
Caiaphas looked at him, and Timothy could tell that he still did not understand.
“They leave the fin on, Caiaphas,” he said, stressing his every word. “A fin that is extremely sharp—almost knifelike.”
Timothy moved himself around so that the plate was behind him.
“What are you doing?” Caiaphas asked as the boy leaned backward toward the plate.
He could feel the hot flesh of the fish beneath his fingers and he carefully began to move his bound wrists so that the fish’s razor-sharp dorsal fin would be between them. It took some time, but his persistence was rewarded, and Timothy managed to sever the rope tied to his wrists.
With a grin he held the pieces of the rope up for his companion to see. Caiaphas watched in disbelief as Timothy picked through the remains of their meal, retrieving the fin that was still attached to the fish’s spine.
“They followed their customs, Caiaphas,” the boy said. “They’re not used to having prisoners, except in their fishing nets.”
“Timothy Cade, you are truly an amazing individual,” the navigation mage said as the boy went to work cutting his restraints. “I am honored to be acquainted with you.”
Timothy sawed through Caiaphas’s ropes in half the time it took him to do his own, now that he could see what he was doing. When he finished, the navigation mage slowly brought his fingers up to look at them.
“Are they broken?” Timothy asked.
Caiaphas nodded. “Some, I’m afraid. I will not be much help to you in this escape.”
The music from the village had grown softer, and it seemed to Timothy that the fires burned a little less brightly. They didn’t have a moment to spare. If they were going to flee this place, they had to do it at once. Timothy immediately went to work on the door, the fish fin cutting through the rope that held it with ease.
“You go first,” he said to Caiaphas as he pushed the door open. “I’ll help you down.”
The navigator moved toward the door and began to slip over the edge of the cage. Timothy grabbed hold of his wrists, using all his strength to allow the man to gradually lower himself toward the shallow lake water below. When Timothy could hold him no longer, he let go of Caiaphas’s wrists and the mage splashed down into the thigh-high water.
They both paused, listening for any sign of alarm from the Lake Dwellers, but there was no response.
“Come on, Timothy,” Caiaphas urged, and the boy lowered himself from their hanging prison to land in the cold water beside his friend.
“And now?” Caiaphas asked as they moved up onto the shore.
“We get away from here,” Timothy said, sliding into a pocket in his pants the fish fin knife that had given them their freedom.
They ran toward the darkness of the woods. “And once we are away? Do you have any idea where we should go?”
“I’ve given that some careful thought,” Timothy said as they fled the Lake Dwellers’ village.
“We need to find Lord Romulus,” he rasped, the very name weighing heavily upon his heart. Finn had told them that the region of Yarrith Forest beyond the Lake Dwellers’ encampment was controlled by the Legion Nocturne, but Timothy had hoped they would be flying above it rather than traveling through it on foot.
“The Grandmaster of the Legion Nocturne hates me enough that he may kill me on sight, but I also think he is honest and true to the ideals of Parliament. He may be our only chance of escaping these woods alive.”
* * *
Timothy was cold and growing colder by the minute.
He and Caiaphas had been walking steadily for hours. He blew warm air into his cupped hands as he followed the navigator, each of them alert to the sounds around them in case they were pursued. They had headed deeper into the Yarrith Forest, walking through the night, moving upward into the colder, mountainous regions in their search for the city that was home to Lord Romulus and the Legion Nocturne.
Caiaphas paused and turned to face him. “Are you well?”
“I’m fine,” Timothy said, trying with all his might to keep his teeth from chattering, but not altogether successful. “I’m just cold.”
“Here,” Caiaphas said, throwing an arm around his shoulder and pulling him close. “Let me share some of my warmth.”
The two started to walk again, more slowly as they continued side by side but still making adequate progress through the dark woods.
“Aren’t you the littlest bit cold?” Timothy asked his friend.
Caiaphas pulled him tighter. “Not really,” he said. “You must remember, as a navigation mage I must sit out in the cruelty of the elements as I pilot my craft. My body has grown used to the variances in temperature. It is all part of becoming Caiaphas.”
“Becoming Caiaphas?” Timothy asked. “Isn’t Caiaphas your name?”
The navigator stopped walking for a moment, checking their surroundings before continuing. He did this from time to time, verifying that they were indeed moving in the proper direction.
“I gave up my name long ago,” he explained to the boy. “To be a true navigation mage—to be Caiaphas—one must renounce one’s identity.” He pointed to the veil that still covered the lower portion of his face. “It is why we wear the veil. Once the level of Caiaphas is reached within our guild, you are forever and always a navigator, nothing more and nothing less.”
Timothy was in awe. There was still so much he didn’t know about the world that had become his home. “I had no idea. Did it bother you—to give up your name?”
“To be Caiaphas is a great honor,” the navigation mage said, and Timothy could see the hint of a proud smile beneath the blue veil. “I gave away something quite small for something much greater.”
The farther they traveled into the higher elevations, the colder it became. Despite Caiaphas’s efforts to keep him warm, Timothy found himself growing more and more uncomfortable.
“Do you have any idea how much farther we have to go?” he asked, hugging himself against the bite of the wind whipping through the trees.
“It’s hard to say. I’m used to navigating from my perch atop a sky carriage. It’s quite different from the ground.”
Timothy stamped his feet, attempting to bring some feeling back into his numbed appendages. He wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to go before the cold started to have a genuine effect upon him, but he didn’t want to think of such things. They had come too far for him to be brought down by a change in temperature.
“Let’s keep going,” he told his friend. “I’m warmer when I’m moving.”
They talked as they walked, mainly to take their minds off the dropping temperature. They discussed what they would say once they were in the presence of the Nocturne Grandmaster. Lord Romulus despised Timothy. They would need to be extremely convincing if they had any hope of Romulus listening, and not killing them where they stood.
They climbed higher and higher still into the Yarrith mountains, and as if the cold weren’t bad enough, a light snow began to fall. He had never experienced winter, but knew that depending on how quickly it fell, snow could prove quite a hindrance.
“Hold on, Timothy,” Caiaphas urged. “We must be very close by now.”
Timothy wanted to believe him, but fatigue and bitter cold were making it difficult for him to remain confident. The snow began to fall harder and started to collect in the crooks of the tree branches and on the leaves scattered on the ground. He found himself slowing down, his limbs growing heavier with each step they took.
Caiaphas slowed his pace, urging him to continue—to not give up. Gently, he took hold of the boy’s arm, with a damaged hand, and helped him along. Timothy was grateful, for he wasn’t quite sure if he could have done it without his friend’s assistance.
“I’ve decided that I don’t really care for snow,” Timothy said over the moan of the wind, and Caiaphas chuckled briefly as they marched on through the accumulating conditions.
Visibility had become nearly nonexistent, and Timothy tried, through squinted eyes, to see where they were going. He prayed silently that they might find a cave or some kind of natural shelter where they might wait out the storm.
Timothy stopped short, attempting to focus through the swirling flakes of frozen rain.
“We must keep moving,” Caiaphas yelled over the wailing winds, attempting to pull him along.
The boy pointed to a spot in the distance. “I thought I saw something. Over there, moving through the woods.”
Caiaphas looked through the swirling snow in the direction of Timothy’s gaze. “I don’t see anything. The storm is playing tricks on you. We must keep moving.”
And Timothy started to walk again, following Caiaphas—
Right into the path of the creatures advancing on them through the blinding storm.