Escape From Riddler's Pass (10 page)

“Three new recruits,” Silas said. “From Caven.”

“Very good,” the voice said, without much enthusiasm. “Sign and password, please.”

Silas looked at Jesse and Rae in panic. “You were the one who kept the stone,” Jesse said, in a calm voice, hoping desperately that was the sign the sentry spoke of. It was all he could think of, anyway. “Remember? In your pack.”

The voice from the door said nothing.
Maybe that means I'm right. The sign is the Rebellion stone. But what is the password?

“What was the first riddle?” Rae whispered to him as Silas pretended to dig around in his pack. Thankfully, he had realized the need to stall for time even though he held the Rebellion stone in his hand.

“Here in stone are riddles three, symbols of your destiny. Those who solve them soon will find the key for entrance is the mind,” Jesse recited automatically.
We already know that the riddles are the password. But which one?

“Hurry up,” the voice demanded.

There was no more time. Silas stepped forward and held the stone up to the slit in the door. “Very good,” the voice said, sounding bored. “And the password?”

Again, Silas shot Jesse a desperate look. Jesse's mind whirled frantically, but he could not find the answer.

“The mind,” Rae blurted, stepping forward. “The password is the mind.”

Silence from behind the door. Then, slowly, it began to creak open.

“That was quick thinking,” Jesse muttered to Rae as they walked through the door, trying not to trip over anything in the dark.

She shrugged slightly. “The rhyme said, ‘The key for entrance is the mind.' I think literally.”

Inside, a torch on the wall provided more light than Jesse's eyes were accustomed to after an hour in the caves. As his eyes adjusted, he looked around. They were inside another tunnel, this one tighter and shorter than the others. A woman with long blonde hair stood in the center of it, wearing a tunic dress, much like the one Rae wore, only gray. If it weren't for the red sash she wore, she would have blended in completely with the rocks around her.

“Follow me,” she said, and with a start, Jesse realized it was her voice they had heard through the door. It had been so low and harsh he had assumed it was a man's.

She turned the corner, into a larger cavern, where a row of armed, scarred fighters, men and women, sat on the ground.
The rebels
. There were more than Jesse had expected, at least twenty. A few stood and walked over to the woman.

“Come in,” she said, smiling at the three Youth Guard members. Then she pulled out a sword and held it to Jesse's throat. “We've been expecting you.”

 

Jesse hadn't complained when they marched him through the hall of jeering rebels, when they made him sit on the cavern floor with his hands on his head, or when they searched him for weapons.

But when the blonde woman tried to take his walking stick, he grabbed it back.
This is worth fighting for
.

“So, the meek one finally raises his head,” the woman said, a smile curling onto her face. “Interesting.”

“I need this to walk with,” Jesse said stiffly, pointing to his crippled leg. They couldn't take the staff from him. It was all he had to remind him of Kayne—to remind him of home.

The blonde woman frowned, seeming to notice his leg for the first time. Then she leaned over and ripped his right sleeve up. Jesse knew what she was looking for—the tattoo of the Youth Guard, branded into the shoulders of its members. “Why, this one is not of the Guard at all! How amusing.” She laughed, and Jesse's face burned with shame.

“I'm glad you're so amused, Sonya,” the other woman in the group said. This one had short brown curls and calm, wise eyes. “I, for one, am concerned.”

“And why is that, Anise?” one of the men asked.

“Because squads are made of four,” she replied, never looking away from Sonya. “We have one already.”

A spike of relief went through Jesse's body.
Parvel! He must be alive
. “Here are two others,” the woman called Anise continued. “Where is the fourth?”

For a moment, Sonya's cocky smile faded, and Anise pressed on. “Waiting outside with a troop of Patrol, perhaps, ready to attack if they do not return to the surface? Hiding in the tunnels to surprise us as we sleep?”

Now the party of rebels seemed to grow uneasy, muttering to each other. A few more joined the group, staring down at them with a strange mixture of fear and hostility.

“What of it, then?” Sonya demanded. “Where is the fourth?” Jesse looked at Silas and Rae, who were both staring straight ahead. He did the same.
It would be to our advantage,
he realized,
if they believed an attack was coming.

“Recall,” Sonya said casually, “we do have your friend. Despite the insistence of my fellow leaders that we wait for the Nine to assemble, he is, I assure you, quite…disposable.”

“She died,” Jesse said immediately. “During training. I don't remember her name—what was it, Silas?”

“Aleiah,” Silas replied. He did not seem angry with Jesse for answering.
Parvel cannot die for the sake of one who is already dead
. “Sixteen years old, from District Three, near the border of the Northern Waste. It was during an intense training run in the last week before the Festival.” He looked dully up at Sonya's suspicious face. “They said they found her only a quarter of a mile from the end.”

“Convenient,” she snarled at them, “that you would lose a warrior so easily, then replace her with a cripple.”

She took back Jesse's staff, this time with her hand on her sword in case he reached for it again.

This time, though, Jesse had greater concerns. “It's true,” Jesse insisted. “Ask Parvel if you want a confirmation.”

“Send Cotter,” Anise said to one of the men. “The prisoner knows him.”

The man nodded and ran though an archway into another cavern. “May I have my walking stick back now?” Jesse asked.

“Why?” Sonya asked, eyeing him with suspicion.

“Because,” Jesse said, his face perfectly serious, “if I press the phoenix's head, the wood falls away to reveal a sword.”

Sonya stared suspiciously at the stick. A few of the other Rebellion members chuckled. Realizing her mistake, she straightened and glared at Jesse. “So he's a cripple
and
a jester.”

“What?” Jesse asked in surprise. He looked down at his left leg, as if surprised. “That's right—I
am
crippled. That would explain the walking stick, wouldn't it? I wondered, because the sword feature never seemed to work.”

More stifled laughter, especially from a man with a pointy black beard. Jesse made sure to remember his face.
He may be one we could get on our side
.

“You think I will stoop to accommodate one who insults me?” Sonya demanded, her face turning red.

“Oh, let the boy have his staff, Sonya,” the man with the black beard said dismissively. “It will do you no harm. Besides, you saw he's not even of the Guard. What can he do to you?”

“Fine,” Sonya replied in disgust, “have it your way, Nathan.” She shoved the walking stick toward Jesse.

She snatched up Silas' Rebellion stone instead. “I take it you found this where we kidnapped your friend.”

Silas didn't answer. He just stared straight ahead in stony silence.

Sonya glared at all of them now, leaning in and speaking in a low tone. “We sent two men to dispose of you wretches. Only one came back. If I ever find out which one of you killed him, death will be a mercy for you.”

None of them said anything, but Jesse had to fight to keep from shivering. The look in Sonya's eyes was pure hatred. If she knew Silas shot the arrow that killed her Rebellion friend…. Jesse didn't want to think about what would happen.

“Here,” Sonya said, shoving the stone back into Silas' hands. “Keep it. Let it be a reminder of who the strong and brave in Amarias really are.”

For a moment, Jesse was sure Silas was going to shout at Sonya or spit at her feet. But, although his face tightened, he still said nothing.

The man who had run into the cavern came back. “Cotter got the same story out of the other one,” he said.

“Good,” Sonya said, nodding in satisfaction. “Well, let's get on with it! Tie them up!”

Three of the group stepped forward, tying the three intruders' hands securely behind their backs. Sonya herself checked on Jesse's, giving them a vicious yank before the knot was tied. “You watch what you say to me, boy,” she whispered harshly into his ear. “I and the others of the Nine hold all of your lives in balance.”

Jesse refused to acknowledge her.
Or cower before her, like she probably wants
.

“All right,” ordered Nathan, the black-bearded man. “To the pits.”

Jesse couldn't figure out who was in charge in this Rebellion base. First one member would give orders, then another.
Maybe it has something to do with ‘the Nine' Sonya is a part of
.

They were practically shoved through the hall by a few men who, Jesse knew, would be ready to pull out their swords should any of them try to escape.
Not that we would be able to do anything with our hands tied.

The hall led to a tunnel, which led to another, smaller hall. Jesse stopped to look around at it. Along one wall was a stone bench, or perhaps a platform. Before he could see more, the rebel behind him pushed him forward.

“Excuse me,” he said to the man marching behind him. “May I ask you a question?”

No one answered. Jesse decided to ask anyway. “What is this ‘Nine' that everyone speaks of?”

“The Council of Nine,” a voice beside him replied. It was Nathan. “You might call it the ruling structure of the District Two Rebellion. There are, of course, nine of us. Most have already arrived for the spring gathering. The rest will arrive tomorrow.”

“The rest?”

“My wife and I are two of the Nine,” Nathan replied. “Another is Sonya. You've already met her, of course.”

“Pleasant woman that one,” Jesse said.
And I suppose it's not good for us that she's in charge here
.

“You gave her little reason to be,” Nathan pointed out.

“
I
thought it was amusing. And I didn't say half of what I wanted to say.”

Jesse could have been imagining it, but he thought he heard Nathan chuckle. “Nevertheless,” he said, clearing his throat and coming to stand beside Jesse, “you and your friends would do well to make no more enemies. In the Council, the majority rules, and you will be facing plenty who wish you dead immediately.”

Suddenly, Jesse's jokes didn't seem quite so funny. “And the Nine will meet tomorrow?” he asked, just to be sure.

Nathan nodded. “Which means you may have only one day left to live.”

Cheery thought for a cheery place
, Jesse decided as they entered the cavern that held the pits.

"Pits" was a fitting name. Unlike a formal prison, the Rebellion's pits were two holes in the stone ground, each covered with a thick metal grate.

The rebels stopped them at the mouth of the first, largest pit. “Hold still,” Nathan commanded, jerking Jesse's arms up. Although Jesse could not see, he guessed Nathan was sawing away at the ropes with his sword.

“Careful,” Jesse muttered, trying not to move. As the ropes fell away, he felt the welcome sensation of blood flowing back to his hands. “Thank you.”

One of the rebels knelt to the ground to unlock the grate. “No sudden moves,” Nathan warned all three of them.

What are we going to do, kick him into the pit? What would that accomplish?

The grate slid away and clanked to the ground. One of the men took down a shaky-looking wooden ladder, leaning against the wall, and shoved it into the pit. “All right, in you go.”

“How deep is it?” Rae asked.

“About six spans,” the man replied.

Spans.
Jesse knew that was the unit of measurement in District Two, but he wasn't sure how long it actually was.

Nathan glanced down at the pit. “If the tall one”—by that he meant Silas—“stood at the bottom and raised his arm up, he would be able to reach halfway to the grate,” he supplied helpfully.

Jesse peered over the edge. Though the light was very dim—only one of the men in the party carried a torch—he could see nothing but bare rock and shadows at the bottom.

“Not very welcoming,” he mused.

“You should have thought of that before you stormed our headquarters,” one of their captors shot back.

“I had other things on my mind while making that decision,” Jesse informed him, “like saving my friend's life.” He assumed Parvel was being kept in the other pit, so he spoke louder than necessary.
Maybe he'll hear me
.

“A lot of good that plan is now,” the man said, chuckling.

Jesse felt the irrational urge to whack him with his staff. Instead, he began climbing down the ladder while Silas held it. It was a slow, painful process, even when he tried to put most of his weight on his good leg. As usual, he felt ashamed for always being the weakest.

The others descended much more quickly. Jesse was just grateful that though it creaked loudly, the ladder held Silas' weight. As soon as Rae, the last one, stepped on the ground, the ladder was pulled up. Then, with a loud clang, the Rebellion members closed the metal grate and locked it. The sound of heavy boots on stone and the fading glow of the torch signaled their retreat, leaving Jesse, Rae, and Silas in almost complete darkness.

The pit was large enough to fit perhaps a dozen prisoners, though Jesse doubted the secret hideout ever saw that many intruders. There seemed to be nothing in the pit but a few rock formations.
Apparently the Rebellion did not see the need to smooth obstacles out of their prison pits.

“Everyone all right?” Jesse asked.

“Yes,” Rae said, next to him.

“Yes,” said Silas, a distance away. He was staring up at the grate.

“Yes.”

Jesse blinked.
Did Silas repeat himself?

One of the rock formations moved, and Jesse almost cried out, until it began to speak. “You know, you really did not have to join me here,” a familiar voice said courteously. “The company was a bit dull, but, other than that, I was doing quite fine by myself.”

Jesse grinned in the dark. “Parvel!”

“Yes, Jesse.” He came closer. “And though I wish you were not here with me, I am glad you are alive. I was beginning to wonder.”

“Ha,” Rae scoffed. “No Da'armon riffraff could get rid of us that easily. You should have known that.”

“I was not worried about that, Rae,” Parvel replied, a hint of a smile in his voice. “I was more concerned that you and Silas would come to blows.”

Jesse laughed at that.

“Not to disturb the reunion,” Silas broke in, “but why are we still alive? They know we are Youth Guard.”

“True,” Parvel said, his voice immediately serious. “I am under the impression that only their Council of Nine can make a decision about us. That is why I have been held here for—well, it must be almost a week now.”

“Six days,” Jesse corrected.

“But what could they possibly have to decide?” Silas pointed out. “Their goal is to destroy the king. We serve the king.”

“Not anymore,” Rae said darkly.