Her uncle bit into the cheese, crumbs catching in his beard. “I promised the Shadojak I wouldn’t.”
Elora felt a familiar flare of anger rise but swallowed it down with the bread. Diagus would have his reasons and she couldn’t go taking it out on Nat. “What did Silk do to you after you were taken from the Molly?” she asked, changing the subject.
“They questioned me, wanting to know where you would have gone, what people you knew. I told them nothing, so they tried beating it out of me, threatening torture. When that didn’t work they used a takwich; thinking to take my body and memories.”
“What? Are you alright? Are you still you?” spat Elora, almost choking on the cheese.
Nat smiled, and leaned in to hug her close. “I’m still me. My mind was too strong for the takwich to cope with. It bit me - it died. Simple as that. Afterwards they left me alone, then when they tried moving me to a different location, Bray came to the rescue.”
Elora hugged him tight, feeling anger again at the thought of him being beaten. “And where is Silk now?” After her father, he was the next one she would hunt down.
She rolled a piece of bread between her fingers, making a small white ball and flicked it into the water. The ducks raced each other to get to it first.
“I don’t know,” he answered, throwing another piece of bread into the lake. He remained quiet for some time, his forehead creasing as if deep in thought. “Can you remember what I taught you about the elements, when you were small?”
“Yeah. They all have a rhythm, subtle waves or vibrations that lie beyond human senses. And that if you know the rhythms and reach for them, they can be altered. Air is the easiest to feel, to alter.”
“Good, you remember. So now try.”
Elora glanced around to make sure they were alone. “I thought you promised the Shadojak you wouldn’t teach me.”
“I did. But how can I teach you something you already know. It’s the practice that you need. I won’t help you there either, but I think you already possess the basics. It should be easier without Earth’s magic fudging things up.”
Earth’s magic? Was that the only reason it hadn’t worked before? She snapped a blade of grass from between her feet and held it in her open palm. A gentle breeze, strong enough to tease its edge without blowing it from her hand, played along its length.
Questing with her mind she reached for the breeze, feeling for its rhythm and stumbled upon it so easily she thought it must be wrong. But it was there, a gentle flowing, rising and falling in sporadic beats. Her mind touched the edge of the flow, pausing for just a moment and directed it towards the blade of grass.
A fine tendril spiralled towards her, unseen but felt with her inner eye. It touched her hand and flowed over her skin lifting the blade away from her palm to hover an inch above, spinning in a light whirlwind.
It was working, she had manipulated an element. She felt a joy run through her, the thrill of having succeeded in something she doubted she could ever do. The emotion made her momentarily lose the thread, linking her to the wind and the blade of grass settled back on her hand.
“Well done,” Nat praised her.
Excitedly, she wanted to try again but she spotted Ragna marching towards them, the Fist strapped to his back and decided it might not be a good idea to show what she could do. She would practice more later.
“Diagus says he needs you,” Ragna said, helping himself to what was left of the cheese.
“Has something happened to Otholo?” she asked, worried that the demon had somehow hurt the Bard.
“The demon has yet to show itself. Otholo’s been tickled black and blue but the thing won’t be summoned. He wants to try something else. He says the demon may respond to you,” Ragna shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t know what, don’t know why but the Shadojak wants to try.”
It was a short walk to the keep, following the same path they rode in on the previous day. The remnants of a tower reached far enough to penetrate the forest canopy; jagged edges poking through the branches and leaves where the stone bricks had long ago toppled off, leaving only an empty shell. Crows had made nests in its broken, lichen covered walls, staring at them as they passed below.
Ragna led them through a maze of stone debris and shattered masonry, down ancient staircases and along corridors that had at one time been tiled but were now open to the elements, strewn with leaves and animal droppings and home to the mice and rats. Some of the stone archways were still intact, leading into rooms which the forest and claimed back; the outline and general square shapes of vast chambers and rooms were scattered, their ruined floors a network of tree roots and bramble. Elora couldn’t quite believe the vastness of Rams Keep, it was colossal. She wished she could have witnessed what it was like a thousand years ago when it was in its prime.
Another tower in worst condition than the last, with a thick circular wall that was half the height, spanned before them. Wide enough to accommodate the entire inn and maybe the stables. They climbed over what was left of a portcullis, now a twisted mess of rusted iron, leaning against the ruined frame; bent and sagging at its centre by weight and time. The ground inside was cleared of debris, and the stone cobbles were intact, only yellow grass having managed to push through cracks and loose bricks.
The remains of some walls still stood, marking out where there were once rooms, probably barracks or guard rooms. Ragna ducked beneath the remains of a door that still clung to the wall and down a short staircase that led beneath the ground. Elora linked her arm through her uncle’s as they followed, stepping out of the daylight.
When she’d adjusted to the gloom she found that they were in a chamber with a low ceiling, the lamps on the walls doing no more than casting dull light around them until Nat mumbled something under his breath which made them burn brighter; revealing a plain square room with an old rotted table shoved against the far wall, a broken stool sat atop it.
“Handy trick,” remarked Ragna. as he knelt before the table and pulled open a trap door. “Mind how you go, the steps are steep, slippery and they go a long way down.”
He took a lamp from the wall and descended into blackness, his footfall echoing deeply as he disappeared. Elora went next, taking Nat’s hand as she knew his eyesight wasn’t what it once was and trod carefully. If she fell it would be Ragna’s hammer that would stop her - most probably with her face.
It was a spiral staircase and so she let her hand guide her around as she followed the circle of orange light down almost three turns before the Viking stopped at a thick door. The staircase carried on down and Elora wondered how deep it would go, then remembered Ragna telling them that most of the ruins under Rams Keep were intact.
The door opened into a dimly lit corridor, a layer of dirt coated the stone walls and cobwebs, clinging to the ancient beams, grey with age and thick with dust. They passed heavy doors, banded with iron and studded with bolts, some standing ajar, revealing darkness within, some bolted closed and two of them padlocked.
“What’s inside those?” Elora asked, her voice coming out louder than intended within the tight space.
“I couldn’t say, most likely empty. Those with locks were sealed a long time ago and probably for good reasons.”
They turned a corner descending several more steps that led into a wider room with what appeared to be cells to either side. Fire flickered from between iron bars, coming from sconces that were in the wall.
Diagus stepped into the light, flames playing in his pearly stare. He motioned them inside where she saw Otholo standing at the centre of the room. Manacles bound his ankles to the floor, his arms stretched out to either side of him, thick iron chains secured by iron bands around wrists. He had barely an inch of play in the chains to move.
Bray stood to the bard’s side, arms folded and dressed in the same blacks as the Shadojak. Elora had a sick feeling in the pit of stomach that he’d had enough of playing with her and became the cold emotionless Shaigun again. She took a deep breath and gave him a curt nod, masking her true feelings.
“Ragna, said you needed me,” she said to Diagus.
“You may be able to help, yes,” he replied, coming to stand to the other side of Otholo. “We’ve tried our methods of reaching the demon but as you can see, the peacock remains.”
Otholo chuckled. “I did tell you. He’ll come in his own time and the more he senses that you want him here, the less inclined he’ll be.”
“But the bard thinks that you being here may bring the demon out. I can’t see why but we haven’t the time to seek other means. So...” Without warning, he turned and drove his fist into Otholo’s belly.
The bard doubled over as far as the chains allowed, attempting to suck air into winded lungs.
