“Fucking Eilic,” the Warden swore. “Is she dead?”

Ditan opened his eyes, still woozy and drained from the blood loss. Trynneia hopped in and felt Ylane’s body, covering her as well as she could. He watched her nod.

“Only barely with us,” she said, shaking her head. Trynneia’s runes glowed, blinding him more than the sigils ever had. Whatever the source of her power, nothing impeded it here. He weakly raised his hand to cover his eyes. “I’m sorry, Dee. I’ll get to you in a moment,” she said shakily.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Modius said after he climbed inside. “The girl was not to be touched. He swore to obey me.”

“Looks like your word holds less sway than you thought, Warden,” Trynneia said. “Besides, nothing stopped your lash.”

“That was different,” Modius said.

“Was it?”

Ditan dangled helplessly, relieved to see Trynneia and glad that she sprang to action for Ylane. Those two had never been close, but he knew they would be a united front against the Sentinels. Between the three of them, he hoped they could all find a way to freedom.

Smoky light spread from Trynneia into Ylane’s side, and the other girl jerked away. Waking in a panic, she recognized who held her and hugged back tight while Modius glared over the two of them. The Warden clearly had hatred in his eyes, and it wasn’t for the girls.

“Losin’ yer grip on yer maverick, eh Warden? Not a great way to inspire yer troops,” Ditan said. “You can cut him free before we hit the desert.”

“Shut up, gob. I only brought her here to see you,” Modius said.

“Many thanks,” Ditan said, his sarcasm obvious to everyone. “Now be a good man and cut me down.”

Modius had his sword free and swinging faster than Ditan could believe, tearing through part of his calf into his right foot, severing the rope holding it. He screamed in pain as he lowered his leg, trying to grab it in an effort to stanch the bleeding.

“You’re still a captive here boy. One more word and I’ll just end your suffering.”

Wouldn’t that be nice, he lamented nihilistically. Both girls cried a short distance away, but tears of fear or anguish or relief, he couldn’t tell. Not wanting to validate the Warden’s threat, he remained quiet. There’s times to be that lightning rod, but now’s not it. Just be glad they’re safe!

“Get up, Daughters of the Light. We’re done here,” Modius growled, his fury boiling over.

“I’m here to check on him,” Trynneia scolded. “I needed to see to her first.”

“You made your choice. We all see that he lives.”

“He’s bleeding and needs help,” Trynneia pleaded her case. “Let me help him.”

“You chose the girl over him, that’s all I’m willing to allow. He’ll live,” Modius said. He picked up Ylane and pushed Trynneia out of the wagon. “It’s more than you deserve,” the Warden sneered at him as he slammed the door. The sigils flared, and Ditan was alone again.

“Please tell me some of you got in,” Ditan whispered, continuing to hope he would somehow connect with the elements. He remained disappointed.

Blood oozed through his hand. He couldn’t hold the wound forever. Letting go, he stretched out. The trickle cooled as it traveled down his leg, buttocks, and back to drip on the ground from his shoulder.

They’re both alive, he consoled himself. Alive and free, for now. “Good thing you keep me strapped up like this,” he whispered. “You don’t want to get on my angry side.” Ditan spun freely, all of his weight pulling on the one ankle still holding him. “Not that being angry would do me any good right now.

“Okay, okay. I’ve had a view. We have the three of us. I’m trussed up like an out-falxed bundy. I’m working against our interests with this smart mouth. Not smart. Quick. Quick and stupid. Grrr. Tryn would have the right words.

“Maybe I’ve been going about this the wrong way. I can’t break the sigils. Certainly not now. Think! I can’t talk to them. Or is it that they can’t talk to me? I haven’t made any progress either way.”

His leg stung as the rope twisted, reached a stopping point, and reversed. Feeling the cut, he could tell it was superficial; deep enough to hurt but not enough to be debilitating. Tiny pricks of light hovered near his head, and he recognized them.

“Hey. Come on, listen to me. I need to be free. Can you do that for me? Are you listening at all?” Ditan gestured at his ankle. “Please understand this. Cut the rope. Break it. Burn it. Whatever you can do. Please. Just get me down.”

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The colors twinkled then vanished. Ditan wiped the back of his bloody hand across his nose. “Light blast it,” he swore. “It’s alright, I wouldn’t listen to some stupid goblin either. Dumb, dumb, dumb!”

His twisting ceased again, but he felt the tiniest give in the rope, accompanied by quiet pos as it frayed. “Maybe you are listening!” He pointed back up at his restraint. “Please do that again. I think that worked,” he said, feeling hopeful and trusting, but also foolish. Maybe he only imagined it.

Something tore free and his ankle slipped, only to catch again. Pins and needles prickled in his foot as blood flow returned. Euphoric at the minor change, he jostled from side to side trying to squirm free. Ditan could feel the rope slipping further. More pieces frayed before snapping completely. He hit the floor hard.

For a moment he lay there stunned, surprised at his good luck. The pricks of light returned, floating around his head before vanishing again. The elements had done what they could. He lamented that he had no further plan.

Naked, bleeding from cuts along his torso and leg, recovering from others on his back, he hoped the numbness in his feet would vanish so he could plan. “Never a dull moment with you guys. Thanks!”

Several minutes passed before feelings other than pain returned to his feet. He laid on the ground in the messes that had been left behind, too stunned at his relative freedom to worry about the filth. No one came to investigate the noise of his fall

“They did something for me, I can do something for them,” he said, trying to remain quiet as he thought out loud. He felt around the edges of the door, not quite tall enough to reach the bars of the window near the top. By every indication it was sealed shut. The sigils continued their cyclic shimmer.

“Am I trapped in with a few, or do they just have their own agenda? They didn’t help until I prompted. Not that they helped all the other times before. Think, dummy! What’s different?” He scuttled near the crates, touching the gap where they sat on the floor. No matter where he looked or felt, sigils marked wood and metal.

He clambered up onto one of them, just able to reach what looked like a bone-saw with what looked like a four bladed arrow tip at the end. I need more time. I don’t even know how long I have, he thought.

Deciding it best to be able to return it at a moment’s notice, he began scratching the wood near the hooks that it rested on. To his delight, the sigils tore away under the tool. “I don’t know what ya are, but yer the best thing I’ve seen all day,” he whispered, giving it a playful kiss.

Only dim campfire light shone through the one window, and he used it to his advantage, defacing many sigils on the wall while listening for anyone’s approach. He knew the marks would be obvious to anyone with half a brain, but he didn’t care. The tool normally rested above even the human’s eyeline, so the chances of discovery went down. Or so he hoped.

When he thought he’d done enough, he restored the tool to its storage place and hopped down. There’s no hiding that I fell. Need to make myself look as unassuming as I can. No lightning rods tonight. Darkness shrouded the wagon as the campfires went out. The Sentinels had settled in for the night.

Ditan breathed a sigh of relief. He kept glancing at the top of the crate, the pull of just a few minutes more luring him to return. Craving freedom too greedily might be his downfall, so he sat in the dark to take in the situation.

He heard no animals other than the horses that pulled the wagons. Various snores punctuated the calm, while other noises indicated more intimate activities underway. Footfalls passed by periodically, guards on their routine patrols.

The only thing that surprised him was Eilic’s absence. Maybe Modius was good on his word. He hoped so. Ditan couldn’t envision another circumstance that would keep Eilic from returning for an encore performance. He didn’t want to look into those soulless eyes again.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could just make out the stains on the ground where the blood had congealed, both his and Ylane’s. He regretted what had happened to her, but seeing Trynneia safe consoled him. In the few moments she’d been there she looked well, but the oddity of seeing her in Sentinel clothing disturbed him.

It’s just cast-offs. Someone found something that fit her. Be thankful, he told himself. Maybe I’ll get something to wear sometime soon. For a moment he envied her, but dismissed it. The Sentinels held them in very different regard, and he understood that. The Eluvans made themselves his enemy. Feeling thoughts of jealousy for his friends would only serve to undermine that.

“They’ve overstepped the mark, of that I’m sure. No way they serve the Light, treating me like this. Oh, Mother. You’d have a fit seeing yer boy like this,” he said, thankful she never would. “Definitely something to leave out of the tale if I ever see them again. If they even speak to me.”

Looking up to where he’d worked earlier, the shimmer pulsed across, leaving a dark patch. He smiled. “Maybe I did some good there after all.” Can ya hear me yet?

-Yes.- The reply sounded faint, just as muffled and distorted as before, but he heard it in his mind.

I’m tryin’ in here. I promise. I won’t give up.

-Har-mo-ny-

I’m tryin’ that too. Findin’ harmony. You just keep working too. It takes all of us. The girls need me. I need you.

-To-ge-th-

“Together,” he whispered as the voices faded. Ditan wept in the darkness. He’d made a difference. He could almost communicate with them again. It gave him hope. The Sentinels could be overcome.

“Harmony is what they want, harmony is what they’ll get,” he said. Placing his hand on the ground, he rubbed it gently, thankful he’d found a spot he hadn’t soiled. Closing his eyes, he focused on the feel of the wood grain and how the sigils created divots that embedded themselves deep, distinct from being carved or etched.

The grain changed, its innate loops and whorls edged inwards with a smooth relief. He felt the tale told of being pressed into place, imagining how the wood’s flatness distorted under forced compression. Intelligent design of a kind he couldn’t fathom constructed the marks to disrupt his powers. It had a vibration that became more clear the longer his fingers lingered.

When the shimmer passed through, he felt that change too, altering it for just a moment before fading again. That’s it. That’s where I start working.