It felt good. Comfortable.
The roots above him were long shadows melded into the larger shadow of the pit's wall.
Now.
He crouched low, then jumped up, catching the end of one of the roots with his fingers.
He swayed in the air, then reached out with his free hand to grab another root. Without effort he felt the rough grooves of the roots, knew their shape, gripped them just the right way so he could cling easily to them.
He felt lightheaded. It was so easy being a thief. One had only to be alone …
He moved up the roots, hand over hand, using them to support his feet as he moved up the pit.
No noise from above.
He continued. He climbed two feet, five feet, ten feet.
And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow move slightly. He did not think much of it at first, for his concern was on climbing. But then, as he reached his hand up above his head to grab the next branch, the root directly in front of his face uncoiled from the wall like a snake and wrapped around his neck.
15
He is mute, sworn to silence by his mother. His mother holds a knife in her hand. He is allowed to speak to her, but there is little point. He does not speak words; he cannot formulate his fear and confusion into sentences. There is nothing to do but slowly back away in terror.
All the while his mother speaks with a calm, loving voice. It is the same tone she has used all her life. Suddenly he wonders if any of her professions of love were real.
The root quickly tightened its grip around J'role's neck. Startled by its animation, he let go his hold on the other roots in the pit and dropped away from the wall. Now only the writhing root that choked him like an hangman's noose held him in place while his arms and legs scrambled uselessly for purchase in the air. He gave a hoarse gasp for air, and then, arms flailing wildly, tried to grab hold of other roots to prop himself up and keep himself from strangling.
His fingers came within inches of the roots, then he watched, eyes wide in terror, as each flitted just out of his grasp. No matter what he did, J'role could not gain a grip against the surface of the pit, meanwhile the first root bit deeper into his neck. Twisting wildly in the effort to grab another root for support, he felt all the cuts made by the elven thorns rip open. Warm blood spilled over his skin once more.
J'role grabbed the root and propped his feet against the wall of the pit. With the wall as leverage he tried to rip the root out of the wall, deciding it was better to fall back into the pit than be strangled. More roots came at him, encircling his wrists and ankles, arms and legs crawling over his body.
He was becoming lightheaded as he tried to pry himself free of the root. With what little strength was left he grabbed the root's tip and wrestled to unwind it from around his neck.
Finally he gained the advantage over the root, uncoiling two of the loops from his neck.
The root fought back, and J'role thought he felt muscles snaking about under the surface of cold, wet bark. Using two hands now he managed to completely uncoil it, holding the root up like a snake as the tip slashed at his face.
Then all the roots let go at once, plunging J'role back down into the pit. His body tensed for the impact, and an instant later he hit the soft dirt.
He lay there, groaning as his father crawled up next to him. "Don't try anything you aren't sure you can do," Bevarden said, his tone suddenly sober. Then he stretched out beside J'role and fell asleep, curled up next to his son.
For a long time J'role stared up at the pit opening, despair weighing on his body. He'd never get out.
That night he got no sleep. The cuts and bruises all over his body seemed like insects crawling up and down his flesh. What would it be like to die in the pit? No food was available, not even the berries and roots they'd dug up and eaten on the road. That meant he would probably starve to death. How long did it take? Maybe two weeks? In the kaer and in the village, J'role's people had used magic to keep food supplies available. There had been shortages, but no one had ever starved.
Did the pit tunnels exit back somewhere out into the world? Probably not. It would be a very poor prison if they did. As poor a prison as J'role had originally thought when he'd decided to simply climb up the pit and escape.
What was that? A sound?
All his senses alert, J'role shifted, just slightly, so as not to give himself away.
He saw the shadow of something, a faint shape, crawling along the darkness of the corridor. Whatever it was, it was only a few steps away. He slowed his breathing, trying to make no sound. Could he slip into the shadows now? Probably not. Not if it had seen him.
Odd that he should know that, he realized. The magic, when he thought of it, just came to him. He was a part of it now, and as long as he lived by the rules of a thief, it would support him.
The shadow came closer and closer, approaching with great caution. Then it stopped about a few feet from him. Sat up on its haunches. J'role thought it stared at him, but he couldn't be sure. It was small, only about four feet from the ground, perhaps taller when it stood.
Then, as carefully and quietly as it had approached, it turned around and began moving back down the tunnel.
A near panic came over J'role. Should he let the thing wander off? Or should he stop it now? It could be going off to get more of its kind-whatever that was. Or it might have decided it wanted nothing to do with him. Attacking it might only create new problems.
And yet…
It crept away, and when J'role thought that its guard was down, he quietly rolled onto his knees. The magic made his motion nearly soundless. On his feet now walking close to the wall of the tunnel, he began to follow his visitor back the way it had come. It might know of an exit. It might have a master-someone who had been thrown into the tunnel some time ago. Perhaps working together they could escape.
J'role thought briefly of his father. Should he leave him? Would Bevarden panic if he woke and found J’role gone? J'role had difficulty focusing his thoughts on his father; concern for anyone but himself had all but evaporated from his mind. Instead he put all his attention on the placement of his next step. It thrilled him to make no sound as he walked.
He followed the creeping shadow another twenty feet. Nothing was visible. But he heard the thing shift and sigh- perhaps it was standing now-and then continue on. It certainly sounded as if its movement had changed, and perhaps it now walked on two feet.
As he followed, J'role ran his fingers along the wall to keep his sense of balance. They came to turns in the corridor, and finally intersections. Several times he had to stop and listen to determine which way his prey had gone. He made a mental list of the turns he had made, so he could find his way back if necessary.
Finally, when he had gone a long way from the pit, J'role heard a few strange words spoken. The voice belonged to a girl. Then a bright blue light suddenly flared ahead of him. The light hurt his eyes, and J'role raised his arms before his face.
"Oh," the voice said, definitely a girl's. "I thought so."
Lowering his arms, he saw a short girl, about his age with a round face and long dark hair, staring at him. A blue fire burned from her hand. It took him a moment to adjust to the fact that she was not a monster. Nor was she-with mud streaking her face and hair matted with grime-like the elf queen at all. Pudgy, he thought.
"Who are you?” she asked firmly.
J'role spread his arms wide, and then pointed to his throat. He shrugged.