7 - The Summoning, Part III

Avi

The hallway the trapdoor led to was so long I thought it would never end, not to mention I hadn’t completely healed from the humiliation and stupidity of my failure after being caught, but after what seemed like an eternity, the misery of being alone with my shame finally led out to a wide room. It was like a cave. The walls were dirt and there was a very earthy smell to it, and I thought back, remembering how there was a slight decline in the tunnel. Of course. We were in a cave, or more accurately, a dugout. In the middle of the room was a large table, but no seats. There were around ten people lingering around the space, some obviously uneasy, others merely polite and slightly shy. I furrowed my brow. Most of them were men. Older men, which seemed unusual considering I had only ever seen one older man while at the ridge. The men kept talking while we entered, paying the warden no particular interest as she brought along with her two new people. Or perhaps they already knew who we were.

“Warden Celive, anything to report?” A younger-sounding voice addressed the warden. I looked over to see who was talking to her and was confused to find one of the older men speaking. I brushed it off with a confused shrug, thinking it was either my imagination or a misunderstanding of some kind.

“We have a new member.” I stared at the back of Master Romia’s head as she spoke, my interest rising, then she turned around and yanked me forward by the shoulder of my tunic, which was dirty from the day’s activities. Heat rose to my face. “His name is Avi, and the last name, as always, is classified. Oriole is back as well, with nothing to report.”

“I see.” The man said again in a voice that belonged to a person in their twenties. “Proceed with the care of caution at your heels.”

I walked forward warily behind the warden as she strode forward, her posture showing stature and demanding respect. I furrowed my brows, glancing behind me one last time at the odd-voiced man. Something’s not right here...

We went to the back of the room, where Master Romia then leaned on the earthy wall and pulled us onto the wall next to her.

“Look casual.” she hissed in a whisper that wouldn’t carry. “Or you’ll face me later.”

A chill ran down my back, and I saw Oriole stiffen noticeably in the corner of my eye. I rolled my shoulders, attempting to loosen my stiff muscles. It didn’t work.

I leaned against the wall in the middle of Oriole and the warden and waited for whatever reason for several minutes, then, my mind about ready to explode from held-up adrenaline and anticipation, I followed Master Romia’s gaze over to one of the old men who seemed like he was also waiting, a cup of dark red liquid in his hand. He sipped it regally, his dead-serious gaze working its way around the room, then it met our group and my stomach leapt up and lodged itself in my throat. He had dark grey, almost black hair, and a glare of thunder that shot through light grey eyes. He looked like he killed someone, or worse, though my mind didn’t happen to go through the trouble of thinking of what could be worse than killing. I loosened my features, forming a stone face that felt so unnaturally like my father’s that I had to resist the urge to pinch myself.

The man’s gaze held on the warden, then he started making his way through the room to her and in three strides he was in front of our group. He stood there for a second, but his eyes were stoic and the grey of his irises was like thunder: threatening, but merely an echo of his full potential. I shuddered and instantly dreaded the possibility of me catching his attention, though I shrank back as much as being under the warden’s attention would allow in the hopes that that specific horror wouldn’t happen.

Don’t notice me. Don’t notice me.

His eyes met mine and my stomach, still located in my throat, decided to go rogue and try to escape completely. I wish I were in bed like a good camper right now!

“So this is your new apprentice, Celive?” His voice was dark and young. Why was it young? What was this?

“Yes. Is there anything else you require from me?” Master Romia stood, her back in perfect straightness and her chin high, holding the man’s gaze with admirable nonchalance for several seconds, then I watched as he let out an almost inaudible breath.

“You always were hard to get, but this time, it’s not you I require something from,” his eyes glanced from the warden to me again, and my breath caught. “It’s him.”

There was a pause. I stared, Master Romia stared, Oriole stared, and most of all, the man stared. At me. I thought I was going to die, but then the moment was over and my insides flipped back over to their rightful position in my gut, even though collapsing still sounded way too tempting.

Master Romia met my eyes and nodded, then the man stepped forward and motioned for me to follow him. I wanted to cry.

We went to the other side of the dugout where the others couldn’t here us, and the man turned around and folded his arms. “Who are you?”

“What?” Why isn’t that my question? Unsaid words stung at my throat.

“What is your name?”

A phrase my father used to tell me echoed through my head, don’t give strangers your name. Especially if they ask.

I gulped. What was I supposed to do? He clearly asked me, but it would be extraordinarily rude to deny him...

I sputtered the first name that came to my head, “Alphonse...” I paused. ”...Itoma... Alphonse Itoma.”

My father’s name. What a lie.

“Itoma, eh?” He raised both eyebrows like that’s something peculiar and heat rose to my face again. “I’ve only heard that name on one person... What is your father’s name?”

Dang it.

I grasped at straws, desperately praying that it didn’t backfire and completely scream I’m a lying bale of hay!

“I—I don’t have a father...”

He looked taken aback, then awkward. “I see.” He cleared his throat, regaining his iron composure. “I am Grengal... and,” he paused shortly, lowering his rumbling voice to a quiet tone. “It’s unsafe to give your last name. I will forget it, don’t worry, but everyone here goes on a one name basis because first names help to keep things quiet.”

“Oh,” was all I could manage. Where did Master Romia take me? And what about Oriole? How was she in on it? Thoughts threatened to burst through my mouth to anybody who cared to listen, but one glance at Grengal’s thunder eyes set me straight. I tightened my lips securely.

“Celive,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck. “She, uh, well...”

I listened intently.

“Well, she kind of has a secret. And... if you’re her apprentice, I was kind of wondering if you knew it yet...” he looked at my skeptical gaze and added, “I know it, I was just thinking that it would only be fair if you knew, too.” His face straightened and he took a breath, and his eyes were pure iron again. “The point is, do you know what you’re getting into, kid?”

Then it was my turn to be taken aback. Getting into? What did he mean?

Grengal saw my reaction and sighed. “So you don’t, then. Well it is what it is and now you’re not gonna get back out of it, so it’s all or nothing.” He drew in a breath, then said his next line in a slow, steady voice, and I was still surprised to hear his young tone speak from elderly lips. “Celive has been meaning to tell you that we’ve been researching something... interesting. Do you know where you are?”

“A dugout.”

“A dugout, yes, but this one is for a certain group of people researching a certain thing,”

I saw a glint in his eye and I instinctively took a step back, but he stepped forward and placed both his hands heavily on my shoulders. I squeaked, my eyes wide.

“Kid, you don’t know what you’ve gotten into, so I’ll tell you. It’s the people running this place.”

My mind fell silent of my many countless fears to listen. What did he mean?

“They’ve been up to something, and it’s not good.”