A Forest of Secrets

Chapter 36

They strolled across the barracks and training grounds nonchalantly, as if they truly belonged there – or at least that's what she hoped, seeing as she felt like she had a huge "I don't belong here" sign pinned to her back.  Laurentius navigated the compound with such ease anyone would've thought he actually lived there. 

She hadn't expected the place to look so... homely: the knights --in light chainmail or plain clothes -- played chess, read books, drank wine and laughed together around tables or sitting on the various buildings' steps. It looked like a small village, filled with life and laughter. There were even dogs in there, wagging their tails, napping at the knight's feet, chasing away moths. The smell of homecooked meals and fresh bread filled the air, making her stomach turn: equal parts hunger and nausea. Firedust lampposts adorned every corner of the citadel, illuminating their path. The fog didn't enter the enclave, magic, perhaps? Laurentius tugged her arm, she was starting to attract attention to herself. She adjusted her hood, covering her face as much as she could.

The fabric of her blouse was sticking to her body, her armpits felt like cold swamps. Were her legs shivering or was there an earthquake only she could feel? Creators. She needed a bucket. The dreadful chicken soup she had for lunch was trying to say hello. She did her best to keep her eyes fixed on the ground, following Laurentius' footsteps closely. She tripped on him as he stopped in front of a large iron door, attached to a plain looking stone wall, void of any windows. The mage pressed his hand into a round crevice-- the door gave away making a low creak. He bowed, letting her in first. He chose the best moment imaginable to behave like a gentleman, making her go head first into the unknown. How very nice of him.

A giant inwards tower: that was the only way Jo could describe what she had before her. A never-ending well, dimly lit by tiny firedust fixtures; spiraling all the way down, layer upon layer of holding cells. There was moaning, the low murmur of at least a couple of dozen people singing different tunes echoed on the walls making her skin crawl. Jo leaned over the balustrade: there were hundreds of cells, maybe more than a thousand – why would the Onturians even need that many cells? Jo beckoned Laurentius to move faster, she didn't want to be there longer than necessary.

"Is Alaric in one of these?" she whispered. They'd never find him. Never.

"What? Of course not," he snorted as if it had been the most obvious and ridiculous question in the world. "These are the prisoner's cells," he chuckled, walking towards Jo's left. Another door, iron and large as the first one, but different. A series of runes adorned its surface, twisting, and interlacing with one another. "The recruit's ceremonial cells are here, behind this very door," he whispered. Behind it, the aspiring Onturian Knights waited for their rite of passage. Alaric waited. Jo's heart contracted, she held tight onto her satchel, her cheeks flushed furiously, her body felt cold all of a sudden.

Laurentius pressed his hand to the center, imbuing magic into it, just like with the first one. The runes shone brightly in five different colors, each stream probably held a different incantation. She was too anxious to ask Laurentius about it, she didn't want to interrupt him. The door opened, making a faint thump noise. "Alaric is at the bottom of the corridor. Don't worry," he whispered, "they can't see us. The bars are enchanted to make them look like solid walls from their side," the door closed behind them, softly.

"That's horrible," Jo whispered back. A whole month in the dark, without a bed to sleep in. She wouldn't last a day.

"They test their spirits in there, give them time to pray. Some even have holy visions, allegedly, although I suspect they're just the first symptoms of isolation-induced madness," he chuckled. "The potions are but a fraction of the ritual—they usually give them a couple or two each day, I'm told there's a ceremony involved, of the religious kind. It makes it all more... mystical. In truth, taking them all at a time makes absolutely no difference, as you can see. They shoved all the potions down their throats for breakfast today," he offered her his arm. Jo noticed she'd been stumbling, her legs felt weak. She held his arm without saying a word.