The Missing Traveller

“Alexander Benlin.”

The voice came seconds after the door opened. Alister lifted his head. It must have been hours since he’d been put in the chair. A hand ripped the cloth off his mouth, and Desmond walked around to the other side of the table. Two guards accompanied him.

“That’s what the Seal Card in your coat says,” Desmond said. “But I looked a little further back. Alexander Benlin was never born in Deemstun.” He sat opposite Alister. “So what should I call you?”

Alister stared at him. Desmond’s jaw was bruised where he’d hit it.

Desmond waited another moment, and leaned back in his chair. “So you’re not going to talk, is that it?”

Alister kept his mouth closed and his eyes cold. His determination kept fear from showing on his face.

“Those are some interesting marks on your arms.” Desmond’s voice was pleasant. “I wonder which town that tradition is from. Are they decorative, or do they have some meaning? I can’t see the sense in mutilation, myself. But to each his own, I suppose.”

Alister didn’t say a word, only glared at Desmond. The so-call prince’s smile vanished.

“I see.”

Desmond stood and took slow, deliberate steps around the table. He drew a hand up and struck Alister across the cheek with the back of his hand. Alister gasped at the strength of the blow as it snapped his head to the side. He slid his eyes back across to Desmond, his breath fast and his cheek aching.

Desmond gave him a pleasant smile and made his way back to the seat. After he sat, he leaned on his elbows and intertwined his fingers.

“That was my thank-you for earlier.”

He reached into one of his red coat pockets, and drew out a bundle of cloths. He placed it on the table between them and unravelled the fabric. Buried beneath the layers lay a chain attached to a grey stone, with deep black and red veins.

He spoke as if discussing the weather. “I’m going to put this around your neck. And we’ll see if you’re willing to talk tomorrow.”

Alister eyed the chain warily; what difference would it make? Desmond handled it through the layers of the cloth, and the two guards immobilised Alister’s head and torso. He tensed as Desmond approached, and his heart pounded.

The chain fell over his head, and the stone pendant landed against his chest. Alister drew in a sharp breath, and managed to stop all but a pained noise escape his mouth. The pendant was cold as ice, but something more disturbing about it sent a shiver through his body. It weighed on his heart. His bravado was crippled. The stone felt like poison on his skin, but he could tell the effects weren’t physical.

Desmond smiled at him. “It’s called turmella. I’ll tell you more about it tomorrow, if you decide to tell me something.” He looked at the guards. “Take him to cell fourteen.”

The guards untied him from the chair and hauled him to his feet. Alister stared at Desmond with a hatred amplified by the turmella. More than anything, he needed that stone off. He wasn’t sure exactly why, but it set him on edge.

Cell fourteen. They passed number twelve—Ren’s information told him Lark was inside, mere feet away—and the guards opened the iron door to a dull metal room. They secured his hands, feet, and neck in locks and chains that left him on his knees against the wall. It was warmer in the cell—still a bitter cold, but bearable.

Desmond stood in the doorway. “Have a good day.”

They closed the door, and left Alister in complete darkness.

He swore, despite himself, and waited for his eyes to adjust so he could see shapes. It never came. Only an inch of light crept from under the door, but he couldn’t make out even the walls.

The turmella. What was it? He couldn’t explain why he needed it to come off his neck so desperately, but for some reason he thought the stone would corrupt him. That’s not possible. No stone can do that. Not even sura or candra could do that, he told himself. But Yuri’s story came to his mind. He said the ore near the centre of Mount Era was dangerous to even be close to. Did he mean turmella? How was it dangerous? What would it do to him?

A shiver racked through his body, from the cold or from the stone.

Alister struggled against the chains to bring his hands to his neck, but it was impossible. He couldn’t move his head down far enough to shake it off, either.

Minutes waned by, and probably hours, but with each passing second, Alister could’ve sworn a darkness settled on him. It sapped his determination and his hope, until he found himself wondering if Yuri and Mirielle would ever come. No, he insisted, they will come. Whatever it takes. He held fast to the thought, resisting the taint coming from the turmella, until his eyelids grew heavy. They’ll come. Whatever it takes, they will come.

His mother set the teacup before him with a soft smile.

“I’m so glad you returned, Alister.”

Ewen appeared behind her, his eyes shining with pride. “We’ve missed you so much. Have you seen your friends, yet? They’re all waiting.”

Alister looked out the window, where Gale, Louis, Estelle, and Ethan stood, their grins wide. Ethan?

He found himself running, sprinting alongside all of them. They raced down in line with the waterfall, and droplets hit Alister’s grinning face.

Gale rose his voice above the waterfall. “What’s wrong, Alister?”

Alister’s grin faded. “Nothing!”

But the others stopped running, and stared at him with wide, fearful eyes.

“Alister, your skin…” Estelle’s voice shook.

Alister held his hands up in front of him, and his face matched their masks of horror. His skin was grey, with deep red cracks that oozed a black substance. The tattoos from his shoulders extended around his arms and cut into his flesh like wire. He opened his mouth to yell.

His eyes opened and a shout came from his mouth, but he could see no more than he could when his eyes were closed. Cold metal pressed against his neck, wrists, and ankles. He wasn’t in Rindor. He was in the prison of Deemstun, with turmella secured around his neck.

Alister let his body, tensed from waking from the dream, collapse against the iron wall. He felt like being sick, or yelling, or crying. His breath was shallow, and his chest felt crushed, although he knew it was fine.

What was this stone doing to him? Alister struggled against the chains with what little physical strength remained, but the turmella wouldn’t come off.

He scrunched his eyes shut. He’d told himself they would come, because they said they would do whatever it took. It felt like a lie. It must have been days, already, and they hadn’t come. Whatever it takes, they said. But it wasn’t enough. They wouldn’t come.

Alister leaned forward as much as possible, drew his shoulders forward, and hunched his back so the turmella fell forwards off his bare chest, and felt the slightest amount of relief, enough to clear his mind from the fog. They’ll come. They will. The lock constricted his throat when he leaned forward, so his breath came with a rasp, but the wretched stone was off his skin, and for now, that was enough.

It could’ve been hours that passed—not days, he now realised—and by the time the door opened, Alister’s neck ached with the pain of leaning forward.

He squinted at the blinding light. He was vaguely aware of hands that released the chains around him, and allowed them to pull him up and drag him to the meeting room he’d been in…the day before? Yes, it has only been one day. He kept his shoulders hunched.

His straining eyes adjusted as he was sat in the same chair. Desmond sat opposite him once again with a sneer.

“So, how was your night?”

Alister’s mind screamed at him to beg Desmond to take the turmella off, but he refused to give the so-called prince what he wanted.

“Still not talking? I’m not too impressed. We’ve had prisoners go years with turmella. Of course, then anything they said was nonsense, anyway.” Alister didn’t allow fear to show on his face, but some may’ve slipped through. He was so tired. “Oh, yes. Turmella feeds on the mind and soul of its victims. You feel desperate, hopeless…darkened. It’s much like The Madness, in some ways.” Desmond leaned forward and crossed his arms on the table. “I’ll take that turmella from your neck, if you tell me your true name. Just your name, that’s all. And it’s no use lying.” He smiled. “I’m Marked, and I can tell.”

Alister had never heard of Marked being able to tell when someone was lying before, but then again, up until three weeks ago, he hadn’t seen anyone use their Sensing aptitude the way Mirielle had.

“So what is your true name?”

It seemed like a simple question, and Alister so desperately wanted to give him the answer. But then he could find my family. What about his first name, only? No. I cannot give him what he wants.

“It’s such an easy question. I do regret not giving you a harder one in exchange for that turmella. But I cannot go back on my word, now. So why don’t you tell me your name?”

They still hadn’t given Alister a shirt to wear, and so he shivered. If he didn’t give Desmond his name, what would the turmella do to him? Was it worth giving the man a piece of satisfaction in return for his sanity?

Alister gritted his teeth. His desperation must have shown on his face by then, because Desmond smiled back.

“How about I talk first?” He suggested, as if this was a kindness. “The man you were with, Yuri Gunter.” Alister’s eyes widened a fraction. “Yes, your friend, the traitor. That man always had trouble following the rules.”

Alister’s voice strained. “You…killed…his family.”

Desmond raised his eyebrows, unsurprised. “We killed his wife, yes. But do you think us so cruel we would murder two young children, boys no less?”

Alister stared at him, and he struggled to keep his mind on Desmond’s words.

“No, we didn’t kill them, even if that’s what he believes. The boys—Roan and Artur, I believe—have been raised to be Deemstun’s leading Defenders.”

Impossible. “You’re…lying…” His chest ached, his head ached, from the turmella. He drew a deep breath and struggled to focus amongst the mountain of pain and fraying edges of his mind.

“Now, why would I lie about that?”

Why would he tell me that if it were the truth? What would he gain? Desmond was trying to distract him, force his mind open so he would reveal his name. Alister held the edges of his mind firmly.

He kept his mouth shut as Desmond slid over two photographs on the table. He stared right at Desmond, determined not to look down, and afraid if he moved, he would scream.

Desmond sighed impatiently. “It’s a photograph of the boys. Go ahead and look. Spitting image of their father, aren’t they?”

Alister glanced down, if only to confirm the lie in his mind. But the boys, both only a few years older than himself, did strike a resemblance with Yuri: the same blonde curly hair, the same deep-set eyes. Both dressed in grey uniforms.

Desmond is a liar and a murderer. Yuri’s boys were murdered in front of him. They…Alister’s eyes stared through the photograph. Roan and Artur were dragged out of the room. Yuri never saw them murdered. Alister’s breath caught in his throat. Yuri never told Alister their names.

Another wave of ache and hysteria crashed over him, and he resisted gasping for more air.

Desmond lounged in his chair. “I thought I’d be honest with you. And knowing your friend’s sons are alive…it may make you more…cooperative. Anyway, we were discussing your true name. Has that turmella managed to soften you at all?”

He waited for the wave to pass so his eyes didn’t reveal his pain, and then Alister tore his eyes away from the unnerving photographs and glared at Desmond, who smiled again.

“I’m a busy man. It’s either now, or tomorrow at this time.” Alister glanced at Desmond’s chest, where his timepiece hung, but he couldn’t make out the time with the light reflecting off the glass. It was impossible to tell what time it was inside Deemstun.

Desmond’s smile grew. “How about I’ll tell you the time, and take the turmella, if you give me your name?”

Had it been a full day? How long until Yuri and Mirielle came to break him out? The turmella glanced against his skin as he shivered, and a groan escaped his throat at the contact. He leaned forward to prevent it from happening again, but one of the guards pushed him back in his chair, and the turmella pressed against his chest.

“Alister,” he groaned. He couldn’t take a moment more of the turmella. Its taint seemed to grow more and more as time lingered on.

Desmond bared his teeth in what was intended to be a grin, and leaned back. “Good. And your last name? I know five or so Alisters.”

“Time,” Alister managed to say between shuddering breaths. Pain from leaving Rindor was nothing, nothing compared to what the stone caused him. He squeezed his eyes shut until the wave passed, and when it didn’t, he stared at his torturer.

“Ah, ah. That wasn’t the deal.” Desmond tucked his timepiece into a pocket. “I apologise. I should’ve made that clear. But I’m sure you know what I’m looking for. So tell me your last name, Alister. I’ll tell you the time, and take that dreadful turmella off your skin.”

Was it hours until Yuri and Mirielle came? How many? If the turmella grew worse as quickly as it had been, could he stand so long?

“I’ll give you ten more seconds, or it’s another day with the turmella.”

If he could last ten seconds, he could last a few more hours. Alister wasn’t in the right state of mind to reason whether that made sense or not, but it was all he could do to keep his mouth shut.

“Five…four…”

What use was the name Kinross? There must’ve been more than one family of Kinrosses throughout the Union. It was nothing. It’s everything! His mind screamed, and he shut his eyes to keep Desmond from seeing his pain.

“Three…two…”

It was so simple. Just a combination of sounds that gave him freedom from the poison around his neck. A strangled noise came from his throat.

“One…”

“Kinross,” Alister gasped. “Alister Kinross.”

“Very good.”

Alister opened his eyes. The man smiled again and motioned to the guards, who took the chain around his neck. It left a darkened patch on his skin, as if he was scorched.

The moment the turmella left his skin, Alister could breathe steadily again. The weight of the stone on his heart vanished, leaving behind only the slightest darkness. His mind cleared, and the reality of what he’d just done sunk in as he watched the guards wrap up the turmella in cloths. He stared through the table.

Desmond knew his full name. How hard would it be to find out which city in the Union he came from? The man who had murdered Yuri’s wife for the mere fact they existed knew the name Alister shared with his parents.

Desmond smiled. “No need to look so horrified. I just needed a name to fill out an accurate account. You understand. Take him back to his cell, and light the flask in there.”

The guards heaved Alister to his feet, and he shuffled with them to the door.

“Oh, and Alister?”

He looked around at Desmond, his eyes filled with fury.

The man smiled brazenly once more. “It’s the seventh hour of noon.”

Alister sat in his cell, in the light. He was furious with himself, but relieved he no longer held the weight of the turmella. Chains were shackled around his wrists and ankles, but they no longer confined him to the corner of the room. They’d given him a shirt, so he didn’t shiver.

Just a few more hours, he told himself. They planned the break-out for midnight. It must have already been a couple of hours since Desmond spoke to him, perhaps one since he was given a small plate of rice and meat for dinner. What will he do with my name? Alister closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. Dwelling on Desmond’s plan wouldn’t help him. He needed to be alert and ready for Mirielle to open his door.

The lock clunked, and Alister’s head whipped up to the door as it opened. His hopeful eyes fell when he saw a young man accompanied by a guard.

“I’m the healer.” The young man walked into his cell. “I understand your name is Alister Kinross?”

Alister gritted his teeth in frustration. “Yes.”

“Alright, Alister, let’s take a look at that leg.”

The healer didn’t seem to notice the difference between red rust and blood; he pulled off the stained bandage and cleaned Alister’s opened wound without another word.

“It shouldn’t take too much longer to heal.” The healer bandaged the leg, and glanced at the guard. “Has he eaten yet?” The guard nodded. “Good. I’d recommend you get up to walk a few times a day, Alister. Will you do that?”

Alister couldn’t help but glare at the man when he used his name again. When he didn’t respond, he caught a glimpse of fear in the healer’s eyes, and for a moment, Alister saw himself as he appeared to the man.

A bloodied, bruised man—no more than a boy, really—in the highest security prison Deemstun could muster. Did the healer know of his crime, or did he assume the worst from Alister’s glare? For all the man knew, he could be a mass murderer; a raving lunatic. And the healer must have wondered how such a young man landed himself in such a position.

The healer took a step back and spoke to the guard. “Make sure he does, alright?”

The two of them left, and Alister stood to pace around his cell. His leg ached, but it wasn’t much worse than it had been a week before.

Time dragged on, and Alister sat back down to close his eyes. His mind was weary, but his ears alert for any noise other than the ordinary pacing of the guards outside his cell.

They will come.

Muffled, rushed voices spoke outside. Was that normal, or was something going on? Alister stood as close as he could do the door in an attempt to listen, but he couldn’t make out what they said.

Their footsteps ran out of earshot, and Alister’s heart pounded. Is this it? Yells followed, and soft footsteps approached his door, too soft for the guard’s metal boots.

The lock clunked again, and the door swung open. Alister’s eyebrows flew upwards when Ren dashed into his cell.

“Ren?”

Her eyes were alight with either excitement or fear as she knelt beside him and went to work on the locks around his limbs. “Yeah, yeah, I came back. Just let me focus on this, alright?”

A grin came to Alister’s face and his heart hammered in his chest. They’d done it. Locks around his hands and feet fell off one by one, and Ren pulled him to his feet.

“We need to fight, now.” They ran out of his cell.

“Where’s Lark?”

Before she could answer, a guard ran around the corner.

Alister didn’t hesitate as he sidestepped towards the guard. He delivered a kick to the middle of his chest, while Ren ran past. The guard fell to his knees with a gasp, winded. Alister pulled the sword out of his hilt. The guard rose to his knees, but Alister hit him hard on the head with the hilt of the sword. He collapsed.

Mirielle appeared from the corner and her eyes widened at the guard on the floor.

“He’s just unconscious.” Mirielle’s eyes snapped up to him. A grin lit her face as she ran forward and hugged him. Alister held the sword away from her warily.

“I’m so glad you’re alright.” She pulled away. “We need to get to the storage room.”

Alister followed her as they dashed through the corridor. “Where are Yuri and Seniro? How did the rest of it go?”

Mirielle stopped outside a wooden door. “The supplies! Can you kick down the door?”

Alister raised his eyebrows and took three steps back. “I can try.”

He approached the door and wound his body up like a spring. When he twisted back around, his foot collided with the door. It fell down with a crunch, just as another wooden door had a month ago.

They rushed into the cluttered room and searched for Alister and Lark’s belongings. Alister set the guard’s sword down while Mirielle raced through her explanation.

“Yuri and I made it through the entrance as deliverers, and my candra illusion distracted one of the guards, and Yuri took care of him and the rest.” She glanced at him. “I don’t know if they’re dead or not.”

Alister threw countless items to the floor from the shelves. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Right. So we snubbed the lights from the control room, like we said, and I pulled the lever from our end, while Ren pulled hers. As soon as the doors opened, Seniro ran off, the coward. Two of the guards were Conjurers so they lit up low sec and pulled the alarm. We fought our way through to the door you slathered the red rust on, and it went down without a fight. Yuri was caught up holding back the guards after he unlocked your room, so Ren’s going to take care of Jondar’s room now. High sec is clear of guards and Defenders at the moment, but Yuri says the alarm will draw dozens, if not more, to the prison, so we need to hurry. This is yours, right?”

She held up his coat and timepiece and threw them to him. Alister caught them, and pulled on an over-shirt from one of the boxes of clothes. Once it was over his head, he spotted Lark’s kite leaning against the wall. He threw his coat on, shoved his timepiece in one of the pockets, and grabbed Lark’s kite. Mirielle passed him his own pack, with his two short staves strapped to its back, and the yewen staff tied across it.

Alister glanced at Mirielle. “Grab some clothes for Lark.” She hauled Lark’s pack onto her shoulders. He left the room.

Ren ran past them again. “Lark’s room is unlocked!”

Mirielle followed with a bundle of clothes under her arm, her eyes filled with panic, with Alister close behind.

Ren pushed open the twelfth iron door, and the three of them stood in the doorway as light flooded the dark room.