Marysvale (44 page)

Jane, with her bound wrists, lunged
forward and snatched it up. Lyman didn’t notice. His whole body
convulsed.

Heaving back, and with all her
strength, Jane thrust the knife into his gut. A terrific tremble
rattled through his mind, and I was hurled from his dark thoughts.
He came to his senses and looked at the weapon in his body, then to
Jane. Rage contorted his face and he backhanded her, knocking her
back to the floor. He struggled to remove the slippery
weapon.

Instantly, Jane’s head snapped back up;
anger and determination flashed in her eyes. Springing to her feet,
she raced forward and tore the dagger from Lyman’s hands and gut.
He grimaced and cried out in pain.

Lunging forward, he swung at her. But
she was ready for him, and quickly ducked the flying fist. Again he
tried, and she leapt lightly back out of reach. With the yell of a
mad man, Lyman dove for her with surprising speed, despite his
wound. She danced out of his path. As he passed, Jane spun around,
building momentum. She flipped the dagger, reversing her grip.
Then, with all of her might, she plunged the weapon deep into his
back, between his ribs, and into his heart. Surprise briefly
registered on his face as he arched his back; but there was no
scream. Almost gracefully, he fell forward without making another
sound, except that of his body hitting the cold, hard
ground.

The dark specter, that was part of his
soul, immediately leapt to its feet. Its hollow eyes locked on Jane
and charged with its arms wide, ready to tackle her to the floor.
She didn’t even notice as it passed harmlessly through
her.

It glanced at its empty arms and,
thinking that she had simply dodged out of the way, tried
again—with the same results. Once more, it charged with no effect.
It looked confused. Taking a moment to sum her up, it noticed that
she wasn’t frightened anymore. Her chest heaved and her hands
shook. Silent tears, from multiple emotions, flowed from her eyes
and down her cheeks.

Mistaking her reaction as one of
surrender, the dark ghost gave a small, unnatural cry of triumph
and thrust its hands around her neck, in an attempt to seize and
choke her. However, they too simply passed through. Confused at
this revelation, it stepped back, gazing at its hands, then at her,
and back to its hands. Cautiously, it approached her and thrust its
hollow fist through her chest. Her only response was a slight
shiver. It studied her face. Then, realizing that she was looking
at something, it followed her eyes and found what captured her
attention.

The corpse of a man lay on the ground,
wearing nothing but his undergarments and a bloody shirt. A
jewel-encrusted hilt, with only a small sliver of the blade,
protruded from his back—a weapon the ghost recognized, having
wielded it often.

It took a moment for it to comprehend
what everything meant; but eventually, the specter’s face morphed
from shock, to fear, and finally, to outright terror. A horrible,
high-pitched shriek, that no human could make, pierced my ears,
causing me to cringe.

By some unseen force, the darkness in
the room began to gather and gravitate into the black soul. At
first, it came as a trickle, but its power built quickly. The
trickle turned into a stream, and then into a raging torrent, as
blackness from every corner of the dungeon flowed into it faster
and faster from an unending river of shadow. The screeching grew
louder. Darkness flowed in so rapidly, that the outer edge of the
soul began to be sucked into itself. As the soul shrank, the
shrieking became more and more faint, until finally, everything
that was Lyman had disappeared into nothing, leaving only the empty
shell of a body.

A hand gently shook me, and a voice, as
if from a dream, called, “John…John…John...What’s wrong? Are you
hurt?”

Suddenly conscious that I had been
holding my breath, I slowly exhaled. My hands were white from the
strain of clenching the iron bars too tightly, afraid that I’d too
be consumed in the devouring whirlpool.

Releasing my grip, I answered, “I’m
fine.”

Sarah stood awkwardly with her weight
on only one leg. Her right hand held onto the cold iron to steady
her, while she reached through the bars to shake me.

She looked skeptical.

“
Truly,” I promised. “But if
we don’t leave this place soon, we will all be in
trouble.”

Jane was now kneeling by Hannah, and
looking up at me with a pale face and a worried look.

Addressing her, I said, “Please, get
the key to our cells from the nail on that wall and bring it to
me.”

She turned, looked to where I was
pointing, and then obeyed.

“
Good. Now move Hannah away
from the doors.”

As carefully as she could with her
hands tied, she gently slid her wounded sister a few feet
away.

I stuck the key into the lock and
opened it. Then I unlocked Sarah’s cell. Walking over to Lyman’s
body, I removed the dagger and wiped it on a clean patch of his
undergarments. Afterwards, I retrieved his sheath and fastened it
onto my belt. Finally, walking over to Jane, I said, “Let me see
your hands.”

She held them out. Using the blade, I
easily sliced through the binding cords. I did the same for Hannah,
and then slipped the weapon into its sheath.

Sarah limped her way out of the cell
and knelt at Hannah’s side. She tore parts of Hannah’s dress open
to expose the damage done to her body. I turned away to offer
privacy, and heard cloth being torn into strips, as Sarah and Jane
worked to bandage up Hannah’s wounds.

“
I’ll be right back,” I
said.

“
Where are you going?” asked
Jane anxiously.

“
I want to explore the
tunnel and see if I can find out where Naehume went.” I
replied.

“
Be careful,” she said, with
more than just a little fear in her voice.

“
I will.”

I ran down the passage; but stopped at
the door where Hannah had been tortured. I opened it and stepped
inside.

Three oil lamps still burned, suspended
from the ceiling by chains. Directly under the lamps stood a wooden
table with straps attached to it. A smaller table was positioned
beside it, on which lay small bone-handled knives with long, thin
blades of many different shapes. Some were curved and some had
hooks on the end of them. A few still dripped with fresh blood.
Chairs lined the wall, many of which had straps attached to them. I
guessed they were used to restrain the prisoners who were forced to
watch as their loved ones were slowly killed.

I’d seen enough, and left the chamber.
The tunnel grew darker as I continued down the passage. At its
darkest point, it made a gentle turn, and I smelled something.
Welcomed, fresh, rain-scented air reached my nose. Ahead of me, a
movement caught my attention, and I froze. Using my extra vision, I
could make out the figures of two men sitting on what I guessed to
be large stones. One was yawning and covering his mouth. I was
surprisingly close to an exit, for beyond them, I could see the
tops of trees, blowing in the wind from the storm. And, although I
could only see living things, I could tell by the shape and
positions of their hands that they were both armed with
muskets.

Stealthily, I inched up to the men. For
a moment, a moral war broke out in my mind on what I should do.
These men haven’t done anything to me; they’re simply doing
their duty. Of course, that duty is to protect the entrance of a
tunnel that allows access for the Brean into the castle—the same
Brean that are to return later to feast upon our corpses.
And,
I told myself, I had no doubt that these men had heard and knew
what happened in the chamber at the end of this cavern. Plus, if
given the opportunity, I suspect that they would have no qualms
about stopping us from escaping and return us to the dungeon. With
the war decided, I drew the dagger from my belt.

I silently crept within a few feet of
them and sprang into action. I ran up behind the larger of the two
men and slammed the hilt of my weapon into the back of his head. As
he crumbled to the ground, unconscious, I reached around and
snatched the musket from his limp hand. Whipping it up, I aimed it
at the other soldier who had been taken completely by surprise and
had barely registered that something was amiss. He looked at me
stupidly, trying to grasp what was going on. His mind eventually
caught up, and he attempted to raise his musket.

“
That will be the last
mistake you make,” I growled. “Better for your health if you drop
it.”

He hesitated, and then, apparently
agreeing with me, dropped his musket.

“
Good,” I said.

“
Who are you?” He asked in a
rough voice. His face was now absent of any stupid stare as he
glared at me with a hard one.

“
When I want to hear from
you, I’ll let you know.” I barked. “Now back up against the
wall.”

He hesitated again and didn’t move. I
wondered if he regretted his decision, perhaps thinking it was
better to die at my hands than back in the chamber.
Would they
really do that?
I questioned.
Of course they
would.

As fast as I could, I kicked out hard
and hit him in the chest. He flew back and his body smacked against
the side of the cave.

He cursed and stood up, rubbing his
head. He was a little smaller than me, but his demeanor showed that
what he lacked in size, he made up for in tenacity.

“
Follow my commands that
slowly again and I’ll kill you.”

He continued his glare.

“
Now, put your hands behind
your head.”

He did so, slowly.

Keeping my eyes on him, I cautiously
bent down and picked up his fallen musket.

With that secured, I backed up a few
feet to put some distance between us, just in case he tried
something. I looked around.

The mouth of the cave had been secured
by heavy, double wooden doors that were now propped wide open,
allowing the fresh, cool air inside the musty cavern. Near the
doors, in each side of the cave walls, two cavities had been
chiseled out of the rock; and four large barrels were nestled
within each recess. Leaning one of the muskets against the wall, I
used the tip of the dagger and pried up one of the lids. They were
filled with black powder.

“
What are these for?” I
demanded, though I already had a pretty good idea.

He didn’t answer.

I walked up to him and slammed the butt
of the musket hard into his gut, then backed up a few steps as he
doubled over.

He groaned for a moment and then, while
crouched, he lunged at me; but I was ready for such a trick.
Starting at my thigh and moving upward, I swung the butt of the
musket in a rising arc until it connected with his face, ripping
his head back and knocking him against the wall. He leaned over,
spitting blood and teeth from his mouth.

Calmly, I repeated, “What are these
barrels for?”

He spat out more blood, but didn’t
answer.

I took another step forward, and he
quickly answered, “They are to detonate and seal the entrance if
needed.”

Just what I
thought.

“
Now, pick up your friend
and carry him.”

He bent down and heaved the unconscious
man over his shoulder.

I gestured with the musket, indicating
to go back the way I’d come. He set off up the dark tunnel. I
scooped up the second musket and followed.

I didn’t trust him in the dark, so I
opened up my vision to keep an eye on the stubborn soldier. It was
a good thing I did, because in the darkest part of the tunnel, he
slipped a hand under his clothes and withdrew something.

Sticking the point of the bayonet into
his back, I threatened, “I bet I can pull this trigger faster than
you can turn around and stick me with that.”

“
How can you see?” he asked,
unable to keep the astonishment out of his voice.

Poking the sharp point in a bit
further, I replied, “I said, when I want to hear from you, I’ll
tell you. Now drop it.”

He did.

It turned out that having a bayonet
stuck in his back was a good motivator and, in no time, the light
from the torches grew, until we passed the torture chamber and
emerged into the dungeon.

The women registered a brief look of
surprise and fear at the sight of the soldiers, but relaxed when
they saw me behind them, now armed.

“
Put your friend into one of
the cells,” I ordered.

He obeyed.

“
Now, lie down.”

He started to, but Jane stopped him.
“Wait, take off your clothes.”

“
What?” we both said in
unison.

“
Did you find a way out?”
she asked me.

“
Yes,” I replied, not seeing
the point.

“
And I suppose your plan
involves riding horses?”

“
Of course.”

“
Then I don’t want to be
stuck in this,” she said, drawing out her dress.