He did not get to see Skye again for a long time. All the while he toiled, working until his hands hardened and his muscles burned with fire. He was beaten for nothing, beaten for defying his captors, beaten until the color fled from his eyes and they shone like brightly polished mirrors. And in his heart something flickered faintly until it sparked into a raging flame.
Hatred.
He savored the flavor that lingered in his mouth, the incessant desire to slay his tormentors. He took his beatings with barely a sound, and walked about the caves as though he was the master. His toils shifted as the Gigeron sought more strenuous tasks for him, until at last he worked the forges, broiling in the unbearable heat as he pounded out tools upon the anvil. With every strike of the hammer he would imagine a deathblow; he would dream of blood and vengeance and wake up smiling.
Skye found him there at last, and beckoned that he come with her. He immediately dropped his tools and followed. She led him swiftly through a labyrinth of tunnels until a sound like a fierce and angry wind drew closer. She put a finger to her lips and pointed.
Below was a massive hollow, lined in iridescent hues like the inside of an abalone shell. The Gigeron shuffled in streams of constant movement; twisted insects that scurried frantically. There were no children present, something Talan had never seen before. But what drew his eyes was the center of their attention.
It was disgustingly gargantuan, almost large enough to fill the chamber, and appeared immobile, as though a misshapen growth from the floor had somehow gained sentience. The sound that Talan had heard earlier was its irate shrieks, which rattled the hollow in their fury. Streams of Gigeron lined up carrying deposits of the mined mineral, which the creature ingested without any signs of being satiated. It was enveloped by hardened mounds of its own feces and regurgitation, an ever-growing tomb of excrement. More of the Gigeron labored at the bottom of the petrified waste, extracting what appeared to be slime-covered, wriggling larvae as long as Talan was tall.
“It is the Queen,” Skye whispered. “This is why we are here. All she does is feed and give birth. The larvae grow into the Faelon. They are her children. Remember this, Talan. If ever we could escape, it will have to be with her death.”
They quickly returned, yet Talan was beaten once again for abandoning his post. But the blows fell unheeded for his mind was still in the tunnels, staring down at the cause of his suffering. The fires in his heart had a target beyond the Gigeron for the first time.
He knew what it was that he hated.
Chapter 5 — Muse
He lost track of the days. Time ceased to have a meaning as his recollections of sunshine and the sound of the wind became a thing unsure of, a dream that ghosted in the cemetery of his memories. Sometimes he thought of the life Beyond as his imagination, that his thoughts of the townspeople and the Man in Grey were what he conjured up to keep from succumbing to the listlessness that affected most of the other children.
In the end it was only his transformation that truly saved him.
He spend countless nights shivering as ice coated his marrow until it shattered, as fire raged across his flesh in a conflagration of agony. Yet he did not scream as the other children did; those who were inspected and snatched away by the Gigeron. Those who would in time return as Gigeron themselves.
For he found that he could do… things. The hammer lifted from the anvil at his thought, the flames in the forge raged brighter at his command. He learned a crude control by mastering the focus required to bind himself to his surroundings. He learned despite the torture and suffering, for he knew that in time he would use his newfound abilities to destroy his captors along with all the beautiful, graceful, malevolent Faelon who dwelled above.
Skye had crept away from her place and found him shuddering uncontrollably after a day at the forges, his body racked by spasms of ice and fire. She wrapped him in her arms as she did when he was soft and helpless. The pain gradually subsided until all he felt was the pressure of her protective form.
He knew then that something besides hate existed. What he felt for her was something far away from hatred, something that lapped against the walls of his heart like a calm, summer sea. He knew that somehow she made the darkness brighter even in the den of depression that he was resigned to dwell in.
A clattering noise startled him as he lay alone the next day. He squinted at the movement in the darkened corner of his cell. Almost imperceptible was a large, gray-colored lizard. Its long tail was wrapped around a dull object that clattered metallically against the stone. It blended so well with the drab surroundings that Talan had a hard time seeing it. But its swiveling eyes fixed upon him knowingly.
Talan sat up. Something about that gaze was familiar…
The lizard gave a start and skittered upward into the dark crevices. As the creature vanished, the heavy object it dragged dropped beside Talan’s head. He lifted the object in his palm, knowing already what he would find.
It was a key. A large, heavily rusted key…
“They mock me,” he said the next day. Skye had snuck away for one of her brief visits.
“Who mocks you?”
“Reynar. The Man in Gray. He and his… pet beast. I know it and the fox were the same creature. This is a jest to them.” He showed her the key. “This is what they gave me to enter this place. Now they mock me with it. They laugh at our affliction!”
“You don’t know that, Talan. If the key could get you in, perhaps it can get you out.”
He grimaced bitterly. “How? It worked for the gate, but I’ll never get close to it again. And even if I could, do you think that I would leave you behind? I would never escape without taking you with me.” Bitter tears stung his eyes, but he cut them off viciously. Tears were for the weakling that he was. He was forged of iron, and iron did not cry.
“I am not the only one trapped here. All the others are with us as well.” Skye placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Perhaps Reynar gave it to you for hope, Talan. There might yet be a way to leave this place.”
“Hope?” Talan’s muscles tensed. “There is no such thing as hope, Skye. Not so long as we are trapped in this place!”
With a cry of rage he turned and hurled the key into the depths of the forge. It hissed as it sank into the molten ore.
Skye gazed at him with unwanted pity on her face. “You should not curse the choices that you make, Talan.”
“Leave off. It is finished.” Flames reflected in his mirrored eyes. “We’ll never leave this place. It would have been better if I had drowned in the stream than to ever have entered this hell.” He turned away to the forge, unable to face the disappointment in her shining blue eyes. What he saw in the fire was impossible. He heard Skye gasp.
The key had melted, but did not dissolve. It had formed a perfect glimmering orb, flashing atop the ore. It shimmered brilliantly, much like the walls of the city, a star in a sky of fire. He hesitantly took the tongs and retrieved it, setting it upon the anvil. It seemed to hum just beyond the range of sound, a whisper that floated across his mind and murmured softly of retribution.
Skye spoke in a hushed tone, as though she thought her voice would shatter the moment and deposit the pieces into the familiar pit of despair. “What… what is it?”
“The way out,” he said as the light flickered across his vision. “You were right, Skye.” His eyes never left the glimmering metal. “You’d better get back. We don’t want to get caught, and I have a lot of work to do.”