Page 91 of Polestar
He turned on his heels, walking back the way he’d come, rounding the corner.He passed two other guards, neither of whom, as far as he could tell, bore the same tattoo that Havard had.
Another right turn and a quick glance up and down the corridor to ensure he was alone as he approached his destination.He tried the handle.
Locked.
No matter.Elias was deft with locks.Before his mother brought the outside world to his room with television, Elias had spent his life inside this stronghold.Locked doors meant something interesting.
He pulled his familiar long metal needles from his deep pocket, inserting them into the lock.With a few deft twists, the lock released, and the latch gave way under his hand.He dropped the lock picks back into his pocket as he pushed the door open, stepped inside and quickly closed it again before someone saw him, slipping the lock back into place.
Turning, he gasped.
The shaman’s normally pristine quarters appeared as though a wild animal had rampaged throughout the space.His carefully cataloged library of books and scrolls was nearly empty except for the odd discarded, unrolled sheet lying haphazardly.The shelves of neatly labeled ingredients were even more bare.Furniture stood askew, pulled away from walls, drawers open, contents spilling out.Ancient tapestries torn from the walls, strewn around and discarded in heaps.
Tears stung his eyes as he stared.
He swallowed the revulsion of the disrespectful violation of the shaman’s private rooms.
Who would do this?This domain should have been preserved for the use of the next shaman.
Elias sucked in a breath and approached the wall of solid oak shelves.He ran his fingers over the carved scroll work of leafy vines.Once he located the exact etched leaf he wanted, he pressed.It gave under the pressure of his fingertip, sinking into the polished wood until it resisted with only a click.One entire unit of shelves slid into the wall behind it far enough to allow a person to slip into the space between the front of the shelf and the back of the room’s wall, still supporting the other shelves.
Elias’ grandfather and the shaman had begun grooming him for kingship.That all stopped when the shaman suddenly died in an accidental fall down the servants’ stairs.Then his grandfather had become ill and retreated into his private rooms, which Elias was about to enter from the secret passage that not only connected these rooms, but many others in the stronghold.
He was mindful to close the secret door before opening the next.That was the rule.
“Don’t leave a gaping trail after you.”His grandfather had said, when the two elderly men were divulging their secrets to him, once the serious training had begun.
Elias recalled how excited he’d been to stand in the narrow, darkened path, itching to explore anew.He’d thought he knew every nook and cranny of the stronghold.He’d been wrong.Happily so.
Does father know of these secret passages too?
He faced the second secret door in the blackness, surrounded by the sounds of his own breathing, which he willed to slow so that he could hear if anyone waited on the other side.He didn’t want to run into anyone by accident.
Elias remained still, listening.Scenting.The tang of stone and ancient wood mingled with a millennium of dust tickled his nose and coated his tongue.There were only the lingering scents of his grandfather and the shaman’s presence.
As far as he could tell, no one else had accessed this passage.He waited another moment in silence to ensure no one moved inside his grandfather’s room before his fingers found the switch in the dark and pressed.He stepped away as the shelf-laden wall slid back as its opposite had done, and Elias slipped into the gap.
The pungent scent of illness was a thick cloud in his grandfather’s room.There were no electric lights here, and only the fireplace cast some light from its neglected embers.
Elias pressed the switch to close the secret door.
He approached the bed on silent feet.His Grandfather’s diminished figure slept under the layers of quilts.
Elias swallowed a gasp, blinking away the sudden onslaught of tears blurring his vision as he stared at the sallow face.He had looked unwell in the great hall.He looked even worse now.
His chest barely moved under the covers.
True to what he’d told Havard, Elias had no desire to disturb his grandfather’s rest.He didn’t bother moving a chair closer to the bedside.Instead, he knelt, resisting the urge to reach out to touch the elderly man.
Bjorn Thornsson was not a warm man by nature, but Elias had never doubted his grandfather’s fondness for him.He’d felt it in the way he’d looked at him, the change in his voice when he instructed him, and the pride in his expression when Elias succeeded at a task.Occasionally, Bjorn would lay a hand on Elias’ shoulder and often, that was enough.
He wanted nothing more than to feel that solid presence.That reassurance of his grandfather’s strength.
Bjorn’s eyes cracked open, and he tilted his head toward Elias.
“Elias,” the older man said on an exhale.
“Grandfather,” Elias whispered, trying to control the emotions choking him.“I didn’t know you were so ill.”
