Darkness
In the deep darkness of her prison cell, Jaladay tried to keep exercising her mind. To keep it from being deadened by the oppressive blindness that weighed on her so heavily. That wasn’t easy, given the sudden waves of panic she kept feeling, waves so powerful they wiped out any other thoughts and soaked her robe with sweat.
Narkazan may have robbed me of my sight, she reminded herself often. But I can still use whatever senses I have left.
Touch, for one. She could feel the cold, smooth vaporstone floors and walls of her cell. She’d even found subtle indentations, swirls, and notches in the stone. She tried to memorize them, assembling them into patterns. Not because that information could ever be useful—but because the activity might keep her from losing her mind completely.
Every once in a while, she caught the scent of something new—such as a crumb left on the floor from a meal that had been slid through the slot in the door. But those meals of tasteless, chalklike cake and water didn’t have much scent. They served only one purpose: to keep her alive until the warlord was finished with her.
No, the main thing she could smell was her own urine and excrement in the corner. She hated that smell so much, it made her want to retch. But she couldn’t do anything about it.
Hearing was her only other remaining sense. Yet she didn’t have much chance to use it. On rare occasions, she heard Narkazan ranting in the room outside her cell. But none of his rants told her anything remotely useful.
Beyond that . . . all she could hear were the echoes of her own thoughts. And too often, her own panic.
How many days had she been imprisoned? She’d lost count. At least ten, she guessed. Though the days and nights—impossible to separate in this endless darkness—had begun to blend into one another.
Over and over, she asked herself the same questions. How much longer could she survive? Would anybody ever find her? Was there any way to warn her parents of Narkazan’s plans for conquest of both the spirit and mortal realms?
And two more questions, as well. She was thinking of them right now while she sat in total darkness, twirling a strand of hair with her fingers. Did Kermi deliver her warning about the Greek ship to her brother? And would Promi have the wisdom to heed it?
Somberly, she gazed into the darkness of the cell—all the more impenetrable because she couldn’t use her second sight. I’m blind, totally blind!
By itself, blindness was challenging enough. Even worse, though, was what it did to her mind. My world is so much smaller, tighter. Closing all around me.
Using her sleeve, she wiped some beads of sweat off her brow. Would she ever see, truly see, again? Ever touch the face of someone she loved? Ever—
The sound of a bolt being slid interrupted her thoughts. Then a line of light appeared in the opposite wall. The door!
She crawled eagerly toward the door. Her heart leaped to see the line of light joined by perpendicular lines. It’s opening! she rejoiced.
Just as she reached the wall—the door slammed shut. The heavy bolt slid again. All the light disappeared.
“No!” cried Jaladay.
On her knees by the door, she beat on it with her fists. She kept pounding, even though her hands hurt and she could hear, through the narrow food slot, Narkazan and his henchmen laughing on the other side.
Finally, she slumped against the door—trapped, helpless, and alone. She hung her head and sobbed.
More days of quiet misery followed. Except for the moments when the tray of food came or went, there was no interruption. No answers to her questions. And no hope.
Then, one day, without warning, the door opened again. And this time, it wasn’t a tease: the door swung wide, filling the cell with light.
Jaladay shouted in surprise. She rose and stumbled toward it, hoping to get through before it closed again. The pain in her eyes from such a sudden burst of light, the ache in her stiff limbs and neck—none of that mattered. She was getting out!
She stepped into Narkazan’s chamber, blinking in the light. Right in front of her sat Narkazan in his vaporthread chair. He was flanked by mistwraiths, three on each side. As before, the windows revealed nothing but dense, icicle-shaped clouds.
The warlord leaned forward and jutted his narrow chin. His fiery red eyes studied her intently, as his fingers drummed one of his tusks.
“How nice to see you again, my jewel,” he snarled. “Though you look terrible. And smell worse.”
He gave her a thin predator’s smile. “Are your accommodations to your liking?”
Jaladay replied with a murderous look.
“Good. I am glad.” Straightening in his chair, he pointed to a pile of scrolls on the metal chest beside his cot. “Do you know what those are, my treasure?”
Without needing to use her second sight, she guessed, “Maps? Battle plans?”
“Very good.” Narkazan stroked his tusk. “I am nearly ready to commence my war of glory. All my preparations are coming together nicely. In a few more days, the conquest will begin!”
As if applauding, the mistwraiths crackled in unison. Their dark folds rippled with pleasure, casting black sparks onto the floor.
“Yes, yes,” their master told them. “I know you are eager.”
His voice dropped lower. “I, too, am eager! This will be my ultimate victory, my long-awaited triumph.”
Tapping his narrow chin, Narkazan mused, “That reminds me. Perhaps the time has come for me to send another dream to my ally in the mortal realm. Just to encourage him.”
At that, Jaladay raised an eyebrow. A mortal ally? Who could that be? And how does he fit into Narkazan’s plan?
She continued to gaze at her captor. Not because she wanted to look at him, but because she wanted him to keep on talking, to take as long as possible with this meeting. She was savoring every second of seeing again. Of breathing clean air. Of experiencing even this small dose of freedom.
As Narkazan continued to boast about his coming conquests, she thought desperately about what she could do to warn her parents, Kermi, Promi—anybody who could possibly try to stop this madness. But what? It was too late to save herself, she felt sure of that. Yet maybe there was some way to contact someone—maybe even to derail Narkazan’s plans.
How, though? This hideaway must be somewhere obscure, far too hidden to be discovered by anyone loyal to Sammelvar and Escholia. And from such a great distance, she couldn’t reach anyone she knew by sending a telepathic message.
Wait. She bit her lip. There might be one way! The message might not be understood. Or even intact. And it wouldn’t go to any of the people she most wanted to reach, people she knew would try to help. Instead, if this plan somehow worked, her message would go to—
Narkazan pounded his fist on the arm of his chair, disrupting her thoughts. Immersed in his ranting, he fortunately hadn’t noticed that his prisoner had been doing anything but listening. Now, however, he’d come to his point.
“Make your choice, Jaladay! This is your last chance. Will you help me by sharing your gift of second sight?”
He leaned forward again, probing her green eyes. “Remember this, my jewel. I am offering you this one last chance to assist me. There will be no more!”
He cackled quietly. “I almost hope you will refuse, so I can proceed immediately with my plans to torture your mother, your father, and most especially your meddling brother.”
He scowled, making the scars on his face darken. “But that desire is merely a personal preference. I will set it aside forever if you will help me win the war.”
The mistwraiths crackled with impatience. Narkazan demanded, “Now, what is your choice?”
Jaladay drew a deep breath, and replied, “Never. I will never help you!”
Even as Narkazan roared in anger and the mistwraiths swept toward her, sparks flying, Jaladay tried to send her message. But the mistwraiths cloaked her more quickly than expected. Marshaling all her strength, she formed her thought—
But she didn’t have enough time. Before she could finish, darkness descended.