He scrambled.
Roots nipped at his heels. Bits of bark cut across his face. Before he even knew what was happening, a sharp sting passed over the back of his hand, and J'role knew that a root had drawn blood.
But none had caught him. He moved too fast for that. He dodged one way, then another.
Rarely did he move horizontally in trying to evade the roots. Always up. He knew the way to go, and the girl's magic helped keep him moving quickly. Each inspiration for movement came to him as needed, quickly replaced by the next.
It all ended much more quickly than he would have thought.
His hands clutching at the lip of the pit, J'role hauled himself up, staying flat against the ground. The darkness of night covered him like a thick blanket.
His breathing came quickly, less from strain than excitement. He tried to remember what had just happened, and the memories seemed distant, as if they'd happened years ago.
He'd been so alive as he'd climbed up the pit wall that memories hadn't time to form.
He looked about and saw a few shadows of people walking about. Elves, he thought at first, but he wasn't sure; perhaps they were the thorn men. Trees towered overhead, and he could make out their leaves shifting in the wind, blocking his view of the stars. Several hundred yards away, at the center of the clearing, he saw the Queen Alachia's castle, gray now in the starlit night, gray like the flesh of a rotting corpse.
He heard nothing from the pit below, but knew that the girl-Releana-was waiting for him to do something. To rescue her and the old man. His father.
He looked about. It seemed safe enough.
But should he? He felt something new twisting inside of him now. Not the creature, which he heard breathing lightly in his thoughts, apparently content that J'role had escaped the pit. Not the thief magic, which of course was telling him to leave the dead weight behind. Releana could come perhaps, for she had something to offer. But his father? His father, the thief magic insisted, was only a burden.
But even beyond the force of the thief magic came a desire to leave his father behind. He did not recognize its source at first, because he'd buried it so long ago. But it came to him as he lay at the edge of the pit, his cheek pressed against the cool dirt. The new thing inside him was, oddly, himself. Smart, strong. Growing. He didn't have to wait on his father. He wanted to test himself against the world without the burden of his father's despair and misery.
He could steal the ring back, travel on his own. Find Throal, somehow. Get the information he needed from the dwarfs. He could save the city. Get his voice back. He didn't need anyone else. The magic would support him. See him through the adventure.
From below came Releana's voice, softly calling for him. "Are you all right?"
Fury cut through J'role. How dare she take the chance of alarming the elves to his escape?
What did she think he was doing?
J'role waved his hand over the top of the pit, signaling her to be quiet. Silence followed.
Now what? Leave them or help them?
"Go," said the creature in his thoughts.
The magic tugged at his muscles. Leave now, it said before he began to feel sorry for his father. His own instincts tumbled. He wanted to be free …
Suddenly an image came to him. It was the two of them: Releana and he walking across a field of grass, the world now regrown and green. They were older. Friends. They'd adventured for many years. Trusted each other. They now wore fine arms and armor.
They topped-a ridge. Below them, a valley, stretching wide. A river wound through it, trees growing as thick as the elves wood. Within the sheltering darkness of the trees might be anything. Monsters, wild tribes of humans and trolls. Ancient ruins. Wealth and treasure and magic waiting to be discovered. Work to be done. And they would do it together. This valley would be their home, theirs to take and conquer. A base from which they would build their stories. Maybe J'role could speak; maybe he couldn't. It didn't matter. Releana didn't care. What mattered was that they had known each other for many years. A friendship forged in the midst of Blood Wood, many years before, when they had first started adventuring…
He pressed his cheek close to the dirt, afraid to think any further. Such a thing …Could he actually have it? He felt tears build lightly in his eyes. He wanted it so much.
His father's stories …
"No;" said the creature. "It is not for you, J'role." Something strange had entered the creature's voice. A touch of sincerity. Accidentally, J'role was sure. It knew something, had secret knowledge; knowledge of J'role's future.
No. Not his future. His heart.
"I want it," he begged the creature.
"Want all you want," the creature said lightly. The mirth came back into its voice, a humor poisoned like standing water. "I do not care, nor does the world. You shall not have what you want. Some people don't get to be happy, J'role. Didn't anybody tell you?
Your father wanted to see the elves. But I don't think these were the circumstances he had in mind."
Fighting for comfort J'role said? "But he did see them…"
"Very well. And you'll find your valley. But don't be surprised if it's littered with the corpses of those you love."
J'role dug his fingers into the dirt. "Stop. Please, stop."
"Go. Leave your father and Releana. They can’t mean anything to you. If they mean something, you'll only lose them. Why risk that pain?"
"I can have them now," J'role thought, and he brought himself up to a crouch, a new resolve entering his spirit, "They can make me happy now." He looked around. He would use a vine to bring them up, but he must keep them safe from the branches. He had to find a way to do that.
"What are you doing?" the creature asked with genuine surprise. "Your father's nothing but dead weight."
J'role's vision flooded red, apache froze. "He is my father!" he thought fiercely. "I want to bring him."
"Where was your father in your fantasy, boy? He didn't have a place in your little adventurers' group. He doesn't have a place in your life.”
"Quiet. ."
"That's right. No place in yours. But you have one in his, don't you? Servant. Wine-bearer. You clean him up when he vomits. You take the blows when he can't abuse himself anymore. ."
J'role fanned fists and punched himself in the face, over and over. Appease the thing.
Beat himself. It loved that. Make it stop talking. Choking back the gasps of pain, he slammed his knuckles again and again into his forehead and cheeks. He felt his face turning red, the dizziness coming over him as he held back his breath and accelerated the pace of the beating. Numb himself. Take all the pain away by rubbing the flesh raw. If there's nothing left that can feel. .
The creature purred.
Enough? What would be enough?
He stopped, fell forward onto the ground, supporting himself on his hands and knees. The ground beneath him rocked like mead in a drunken man's goblet.
No more.
Please.
The creature said nothing. Content. Slumbering, as if sated with a full meal.
J’role raised his head. He heard nothing from the pit bottom, but he knew Releana waited.
He would help, if only not to be alone with the creature.
Finding two long, thick branches, J'role carried them back to the pit, then placed one on top of the other over the pit's mouth. Next he found a sturdy vine long enough to stretch from a nearby tree all the way to the pit bottom. He tied one end of the vine around the tree, and then flung the rest over the crossing point of the two branches. Thus, the vine hung directly down the center of the pit, supported by the branches.
It had taken Releana and J'role hours to work out all the details, J'role using only hand signals and drawing pictures in the dirt, but they had come up with a plan. All he could do now was try.