“Why did he give it to you?”
“Because he needed me to give it to you,” he deadpans.
“Why not my brother?”
“Stop asking and start looking, boy.”
I roll my eyes. Looking back at the paper, I memorize it. There, that mountain line looks familiar. “It’s the land of Blackthorn, Galen’s kingdom,” I state. Only on this map it’s called… holy shit.
“Caldara,” I whisper. Blackthorn is Caldara!
“No one alive knows the Kingdom of Blackthorn was Caldara,” he states with a gleam in his eye. “It’s had many other names since then.” His spine curls in like a snail seeking the walls of its shell as he exhales and leans back in the chair. “Don’t you find it so frustrating that we can never remember a name? Details haunt us, but a name is like water; we don’t value it until we need it.”
My heart slows, my ears open, and every hair on my body stands. The pressure shifts, as it does when a storm is coming. Everything cools down. I raise the paper closer as if a new angle will reveal hidden details.
“The mountains surrounding us provide more than a barrier to our enemies; they are loaded with minerals.” He stands, wipes the sweat from his brow, and unbuttons his cloak.
Glancing back at the map, I notice an error. The mountain to the north was drawn twice the size it is on our maps today, and the western entrance into our land was significantly smaller.
“Shall I continue?” he asks as he tosses his cloak onto the bed. Small clouds of dust billow in the stale air.
When’s the last time he washed that?
I step back an inch. Who knows what plagues linger here? He’s never cleaned the surfaces, of that I am certain.
“I never asked you to start,” I dispute. “You’re like a pipe leaking water. You’ll drip regardless.”
“It’s irritating, but it alerts you to what is broken. Perhaps that is why Everett picked me.” He lowers himself back into that old chair and crosses his arms. Now, instead of looking like mite-eaten wood, that chair looks like a throne.
He holds power, and he knows it. I have to play his game if I want answers.
“I’m listening.” I dip my chin.
“When I mention Everett, irritation prickles over your skin like fire. Why?”
“Fire burns,” I bite out.
“Everett did nothing to you.”
I stride forward, grinding the soles of my boots into the stone floor, hoping it scuffs. “He stole my brother from me!”
His eyebrows furrow like a rabbit raccoon’s tail. “Maybe you’re looking at it wrong. Perhaps he saved him.”
I look down my nose at him. “We don’t see eye to eye. Continue your tale about Caldara,” I order.
He crosses a leg and steeples his fingers. “Some people find the drip-drop of a leak annoying; others find it soothing, like music. Remember that. Your perception is like the hands of a sculptor. It shapes everything. Regard Everett’s actions as beneficial, not detrimental.”
He takes his time settling into a comfortable position, knowing I must wait if I want answers.
“Caldara’s king was wise. He built his castle along the northern mountains, offering him a bird’s-eye view of hissurroundings. If an enemy marched through the narrow strait, he’d be first to know. The problem is that we forget to look at the enemy hiding under our noses or, rather, under our feet.
“The king allowed his people to mine, digging deeper into the mountain. What happens when you continue to remove the foundation of your house?” He looks at me knowingly.
My stance widens. “It crumbles.”
He nods. “The mountain to the north is only half as grand as it once was. The land caved in; the mountain swallowed the king’s castle, along with his people. Those who survived lost trust in the land. They said that a curse had befallen it. For the king built his castle in the mountain’s shadow; he should have assembled it within the light so that the gods could see and judge him.”
A smirk ghosts his lips as an uneasy shudder snakes down my spine.
