Chapter 9
When Constable Penticott arrived to lead Silas from his cell, he barely recognized the old man. Gone was the homeless drunkard with the wild beard and the stained, disgusting clothes. In his place was a proud man in black cottons with deep set eyes and a tight, square jaw. He was still an old man, but he looked ten years younger, and he stood with a confidence that reminded Penticott of himself.
"Silas," he said. "You look well."
Silas stared at him for a few seconds, then spoke. "I feel like a new man," he said.
Penticott smiled. "Our baths have been known to do that," he joked. "I'm sure getting away from the ale for a few days hasn't hurt."
There was no humor in Silas' expression. "It hurt like Heden."
Penticott dropped his eyes, taken off-guard. "In any case, I have good news. Roque has arrived from Elling, and is waiting upstairs with the soldiers. All you need to do is come with us, name Calum as a Cursed, and return here with me. We'll both sign the dispensary documentation, and the reward is yours."
Silas didn't say anything, making the Constable even more uncomfortable.
"Are you feeling all right, Silas?"
"I'm well, Constable," he replied. "I haven't felt this right in years."
"Then follow me." Penticott motioned with his fingers, and they headed for the stairs. "Roque is waiting outside with the horses. You do know how to ride, don't you?"
Silas nodded. It had been a while, but he had ridden before.
They reached the top of the steps, and walked through the offices. When they reached the foyer, the steward handed Penticott his sword.
"Thank you, Malcum," Penticott said, strapping it around his waist. "Perhaps I'll even get to use it."
The steward rang a bell, the twin doors of the office swung open, and Silas got his first look at Roque.
So young, he thought. The Mediator couldn't have been more than twenty years old, with a fresh, pale face, thick lips, and dark hair. He was already astride his black warhorse, his robes swaying rhythmically in a light breeze. He didn't look like a killer, but Silas noted the polished sword tucked into the saddle.
"He looks young, doesn't he?" Penticott whispered. "Mediators don't seem to age like the rest of us. He's nearly forty years old."
Silas could hardly believe it. Penticott motioned him over to the Mediator.
"Sir Roque," Penticott said. "This is Silas Morningstar. He is the one who discovered the boy."
Roque turned his head, gave a half-smile, and held out his hand. "I am grateful for your service to him."
Silas took the man's hand and gave it a light shake. The Mediator was wearing a silver ring that held what looked liked a perfectly round red river stone in it. Silas wasn't sure why, but he felt like he had seen the ring before.
"Shall we?" Penticott asked. He put his foot in the stirrup of another black warhorse and climbed up into the saddle.
"Over here, Morningstar." The guard was holding the reins of a third horse.
Silas walked over, stopping in front of it. He looked it in the eye, sizing it up, and then leaned in to whisper in its ear. "When I say to run, you run." The horse shook its mane, and Silas leaped from stirrup to saddle like an expert.
They rode through the town, Roque, Penticott, Silas, and six of his soldiers. When the townspeople saw them coming, they ran inside and closed the doors. Everyone knew what business the Mediators were in, and none wanted to fall under their gaze.
They stopped a short distance from the Old Oak and Penticott brought his horse even with Silas'. "The two of us and two of the men will confront them. Roque will wait for the signal to come inside."
"What's the signal?" Silas asked.
Penticott held up a round sliver of metal that looked like a coin. "When I tap this, it will send the tap to an identical coin that Roque has around his neck. He will feel the vibration, and know to come."
Silas had never heard of such a device before, and he would have been amazed, but he had other things on his mind.
The Old Oak was on the east bank, in a quieter section of the town. It was one of the larger taverns in Root, with four floors above the main tavern and a separate stable that could house twenty horses. Silas had been there plenty of times before to keep his memories from returning. Seeing it again now, he wished that he could forget once more.
Everything stopped when Penticott, Silas, and the two soldiers walked in. It was mid-afternoon, and the tavern was crowded, but as soon as their boots had fallen onto the wood floor, every head turned their way, and every conversation stopped. Silas scanned the room, finding Selene Hess over in the corner near the back. She was a young woman, almost too young to be a mother, with long blonde hair, a small face, and a petite frame.
"Selene Hess," Penticott announced. "We are looking for Selene Hess."
There were a few heartbeats of silence, and then one of the patrons stood. "She's over there," he said, pointing back to her.
"Selene, my dear," Penticott said, looking at her. "Where is your son?"
Silas could see the fear explode in her eyes. She stood motionless for a second, trying to decide what to do. But he knew what she was going to do. She was going to resist, because she was a mother who loved her son, and she wasn't about to let him take the boy away.
"Somewhere safe," she said. She tried to sound strong, but there was too much fear in her heart.
"You are aware, my dear, that aiding a Cursed is punishable by death?" Penticott started walking towards her, drawing his sword.
"I'll die before I tell you," she croaked, holding her serving tray up to her chest, as if it could protect her.
"I saw the little bastard running around here not two minutes ago," another patron said, an ugly old woman in a worn silk dress. If Selene Hess could have killed someone with a look, it would have been her.
Penticott sheathed his sword and turned back to Silas and the soldiers. "There, that wasn't so hard, was it? Silas, you have claimed that Calum Hess is Cursed. Do you hereby swear upon your life that this is the truth?"
Silas took a deep breath. His throat had gone dry, yet he found himself calm. He looked at Penticott, and then at Selene, and he shook his head. "No," he said. "I..."
Calum Hess burst into the room through the door to the kitchen, his arm out towards the Constable, and a red tear below his eye. Silas watched Penticott get shoved away from Selene by an invisible hand, sending him sprawling onto one of the tables.
"Leave her alone," Calum cried.
"Calum," Selene shouted. She started to run towards him.
Penticott shoved himself from the table and back to his feet, drawing his sword. He turned towards the soldiers. "Burn this entire place down if you have to, but get that boy!" He reached into his pocket, taking out the metal disc.
Calum turned and ran back into the kitchen, Selene right behind him. Silas let out his breath, feeling a calm strength take over. He knew what he had to do.
First, he had to stop Penticott from summoning Roque and the rest of the soldiers. He dropped to his knees and reached back, finding the small dagger that the soldiers kept in their boots. In one smooth motion, he pulled it from its sheathe and flung it at the Constable. The blade was true, impaling his hand and forcing him to drop the disc.
Penticott grasped the wrist of his damaged hand with the other, and turned towards them in time to see Silas dance backwards to get behind the soldiers, and then lash out with his foot, cracking it into the calf of the one on the left and forcing him to fall forward onto his face. The second soldier started to grab for his sword, which gave Silas the opening he needed to spring up and slam his open hand up into the side of the man's head, causing him to collapse.
"Silas?" Penticott said, trying to understand why anyone would defy them. "Get him," he shouted at the people in the tavern. "Get him or you'll be sent to the ore mines."
Silas heard the shouts, and he bent over to take the fallen soldier's sword and made a run for the kitchen. A heavy young man beat him to the door, but he was a merchant, not a soldier, and Silas had no trouble dispatching him by smacking him on the head with the hilt of the sword. He hopped over the man and through the kitchen doors, searching for Calum and Selene.
"Not here," he said, rushing past the cooks and through the rear door, into the back alley. He popped out just in time to see a wisp of golden hair vanish behind the door to the stable. A second later he heard the horses approaching from the front of the building. He had hoped he had damaged the disc, but that didn't seem to be the case.
Silas ran towards the stables, following Calum and Selene. He heard shouting from inside the Old Oak, and then screaming, and he cursed Penticott for his heavy handedness.
"Stop," came a cry from the end of the alley. Silas turned around to see a soldier there, still on his horse, his bow trained on him.
Silas closed his eyes and took a breath, letting his body remember what his mind couldn't. When he opened them, he ran towards the archer, raising his stolen sword behind his right shoulder.
The soldier fired. Silas skipped to the left and brought the sword down, splitting the arrow and sending it off course. He reached the soldier while he was still trying to string the next one, leaping and planting his foot on the side of the horse, using it as a ladder to get up to the man and bring the sword around through his head. He used his purchase to spin, heading back in the direction of the stable while the now headless corpse tilted and rolled out of the saddle.
Silas was halfway down the alley when Penticott came through the door from the kitchen, slamming into him and sending him tumbling to the ground.
"What in the name of Amman do you think you're doing, Morningstar?" Penticott shouted. He had pulled the dagger from his right hand, but it was still raining blood. He held his sword in his left.
Silas flipped himself over and used the sword to climb to his feet. "What I should have been doing all of these years," he replied. "I don't know who I am, and I don't know everything I've done, but I'm not going to let you take the boy. What he's doing... it isn't right."
Penticott smiled. "That isn't for you to decide." He moved in, swinging his sword awkwardly in his left hand, holding the right close to his chest.
"You can't beat me," Silas said, batting the other man's blade away without effort. "Why are you trying?"
"I'm already dead unless I kill you," he replied. "We serve for life, and failure is forbidden." He stepped forward, making another weak attack. Silas blocked his thrust, kicked the sword out of his hand, and put his own blade to the Constable's throat.
"Do it," Penticott said.
Silas took the blade away and shoved Penticott to the ground. "I won't murder a defenseless man. Not ever again."
He turned and ran for the stables.
He knew he was too late as soon as he entered. The smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils, and he saw both Calum and Selene laying next to each other on the hay, their bodies still smoldering.
"I thought I recognized you," Roque said. The Mediator was kneeling in front of the bodies, a tear of blood trailing from his eye. "But I didn't believe it could be so."
"You're Cursed?" Silas started backing towards the door, but it swung closed.
"You can't leave, I'm afraid." Roque got to his feet, and took a cloth from his pocket, using it to wipe his face. "Especially now that you know my secret. Of course, you already knew my secret once. You just don't remember."
Silas stared at Roque's face, trying to place it. "You know who I am? I mean, who I really am?"
Roque nodded, his expression pained. "I do. We've known one another for a long time. We were even friends, once." He knelt down again, putting his hand to the hay. "I'm sorry, my friend. All these years I thought you were dead. You should have stayed that way." His hand began to glow, and the hay began to burn.
Silas raised his sword in front of him. "You're going to kill me?"
The Mediator got back up and walked to the front door of the stable. "I'm truly sorry," he said again. He stepped out of the door and pushed it closed.
The fire began to spread along the hay on the ground, finding its way over to the wooden beams supporting the structure within seconds. Silas ran back to the alley door and pulled, trying to force it open. It didn't budge. He ran to the front door and slammed into it, trying to make it open, but it too was being held.
He took his shirt and held it up to his mouth so he could breathe, and looked around for a way to get out, not finding one. The horses in the stable started to stomp and whine, beginning to worry about their own safety.
"Mamma?"
The voice was little more than a cracked whisper, but Silas heard it. He ran over to to where Calum and Selene lay, only inches from the fire. The heat of it threatened to burn him alive, but if the boy wasn't dead he would do what he could for him.
"Calum?" Silas kneeled down next to him. His eyes were open, but his breathing was shallow.
"Mamma?" There was panic there, worry for his mother, more so than for himself.
"Calum, listen to me," Silas said. He coughed on the smoke and ducked low to get to clearer air. He could feel the heat of the flames getting more intense, and he knew he didn't have much time. "She's dead, Calum. They killed her."
The boy looked directly at Silas, all of the fear draining away from him. "His man in the robes. He was Cursed. I'm going to die."
Silas took Calum's hand in his own, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry, Calum. I wish that I could help you. But you can help me. I'm trapped in here. I'm going to die too, if I don't get out."
"Save you?"
"Yes, Calum. I saw you throw the Constable. Can you throw the door open?"
Closer to the front door, one of the beams collapsed, taking a portion of the roof with it and leaving precious little space outside of their's left to burn.
"If you help me get out of here, I promise you I'll avenge you and your mother. I'll stop him from hurting any more mothers and children. Please, Calum."
The boy coughed, choking on the smoke, and then tried to push himself to a sitting position. Silas pulled on his hand, helping him up.
The front doorway was blocked by the collapsed part of the stable, and the rear door was on fire. Calum turned towards the back wall. There were pens there, with horses stomping and kicking and trying to get out. He held his arm out towards them, and one of the horses was driven back with such force that it crashed through the wood of the barn, creating a hole more than big enough for Silas to get through. As soon as it was done, he began coughing again, and fell to the ground.
Silas marveled at the display for just an instant. He knew only that Cursed were to be taken to him or killed, not that they had such power. Although Roque had suggested he had once known more.
He put his hand to the boy's face, cupping it tenderly. "Thank you, Calum. I will keep my promise."
Then he got back to his feet, hunched over with his shirt in his mouth, and made a run for the opening. Fire licked at his legs as he stumbled over it, but they didn't catch the flame. He nearly fell out of the hole the horse had made, and he could have laughed when he found the surprised mount hadn't bolted. As he pulled himself up onto the mare, he heard Calum shout.
"Remember."