Keys to the Demon Prison

This was not the dungeon at Fablehaven. This was the real thing. They had marched him along dank passageways, down crumbling stairs, and through a series of guarded iron doors. The smells were earthy and old, pungent odors of rot, mildew, filth, and stone. The wooden door to his cell was five or six inches thick. Meals arrived on woven mats through a slot at the bottom. A new meal did not come unless he made the previous mat accessible.

From time to time the echoes of distant screams interrupted the monotonous dripping. Less often, a deep voice would croak sad songs about the sea. Occasionally he would hear footfalls and see a torch pass by his peephole, the direct firelight seeming very bright.

Seth had not seen another person since he was locked in his cell. He longed for a conversation. How many days had it been? Several meals. He wondered how many times a day he received food.

Climbing off the cot, Seth crawled across the rough stone floor to the flimsy pan of water near the door. Without a cup, he had to drink on all fours like a dog. The pan was so broad that lifting it meant he would almost certainly spill, and he only got a refill with each meal. He had discovered that puckering his lips and sucking worked best. The water tasted flat and gritty, but it was wet and, together with whatever food he could stomach, would hopefully keep him alive.

Seth visited the small hole in the front left corner of his cell. The smell rising from it made him want to retch. After a brief hesitation, he decided to relieve himself later.

Alone with his thoughts, he returned to his cot. He wondered if the Sphinx had truly convinced himself that opening Zzyzx was a good thing. It had to be an excuse he gave to others. Nobody could really believe something so insane.

Seth wondered about his family. His parents might be imprisoned in this same dungeon. Judging by the many halls he had passed and the several levels he had descended on his way to his cell, the dungeon was immense. He tried to imagine the deepest cell, where Nagi Luna still lurked.

He tried not to imagine getting rescued. What were the chances that Kendra or Grandpa or anyone would ever find this place? People had been looking for the fifth preserve for hundreds of years. A rescue was highly unlikely. He would do better simply to hope that the others would not be captured as well.

How long would this cell be his home? It really might be for the rest of his life. Then again, if the Sphinx opened Zzyzx, the rest of his life might not be very long.

He picked up the brick of meat, nibbling at a salty corner. Would he learn to tolerate this food? Look forward to it?

Seth wondered if he could convince the Sphinx he wanted to be his apprentice. If he served him, eventually he might find a chance to escape, maybe even swipe an artifact or two. It would be worth a try, although the Sphinx seemed too clever to be conned that way.

The creepiness of his surroundings was his only defense against boredom. Over time, as worry and fear distracted him less, his boredom grew. Yes, the cell was miserable, but he was getting used to it. He wondered if eventually he might actually die of boredom.

A rumble from behind startled him. This was new! From the back wall of his cell came the low, heavy grating of stone grinding against stone. A portion of the wall slid open, and a mellow white light shed soft luminance into the room. A young man stepped through the opening, holding the white light in his hand.

Seth picked up the brick of meat, the closest thing he had to a weapon. The intruder froze in the doorway, a hand held up defensively. "Please, don’t assault me with that meat amalgam," the stranger said. "It would surely cause an infection."

Seth lowered the mystery meat. The young man wore ragged clothing. Improvised moccasins covered his dirty feet. The white light in his hand was clearly magical, some kind of glowing stone. The illumination gave his grime-streaked skin a pearly sheen. Tall and lean, he had silver-white hair down to his shoulders and a handsome, open face.

"Who are you?" Seth asked.

"A fellow prisoner," the young man answered. Seth estimated he was around eighteen. "May I come in?"

Seth considered the stranger. What kind of prison had secret passages that allowed inmates to visit each other? This guy had to be an enemy sent by the Sphinx to squeeze information out of him. Still, at the moment, Seth would be willing to talk with just about anyone. Anything to relieve the loneliness. "Sure, I guess."

Turning, the young man retrieved a small three-legged stool from the corridor. He brought it into the cell and sat down. "Welcome to Living Mirage."

"Am I really supposed to believe you’re another prisoner?" Seth said.

"I don’t blame you for doubting," the young man said. "I have a similar concern about you. I’m Bracken."

"Seth."

"They stashed you down deep. That means either you’re dangerous and they’re done with you for the foreseeable future, or else you’re a spy."

Seth fidgeted with the brick of meat, turning it in his hands. "And how am I supposed to know you’re not a spy? What sort of prison has secret passages between cells?"

"This dungeon is old," Bracken said. "It has been expanded and rebuilt so many times that nobody knows all the half-buried corridors and sealed-up chambers. Centuries of tunneling prisoners have added to the abandoned shafts and forgotten cavities. I helped excavate some of these passages personally, but most existed long before I came here. Nothing leads out, mind you. Not even close. But we’ve connected many of the deep rooms."

"Nobody has caught on?" Seth said incredulously.

"We’re not fooling anybody," Bracken replied. "If we’re really obvious about our activities, they seal up some of our excavations and administer punishments, but later we chip our way through again. Our tunneling is relatively harmless, and it keeps us occupied, so if we stay quiet about it, our captors mostly look the other way."

"You talk like you’ve been here a long time," Seth said. "How old are you? Like seventeen?"

Bracken gave a wry smile. "I’m a tad older than I look. You would weep for me if you knew how long I’d been here."

"So when are you going to start investigating my secrets?"

"Still don’t trust me? At least you’re not stupid."

"Don’t give me too much credit. I’m here, aren’t I?"

Bracken studied him shrewdly. "Yes, you are here. And you are clearly a shadow charmer, which makes you such an obvious spy that I wonder why the Sphinx would bother."

"How can you tell I’m a shadow charmer?"

"I can tell more than that," Bracken said, moving the stool closer to the cot. "Mind if I conduct a little test?"