Pentagonal Rooms: The Messenger Series, #2

By C Amon Trant

The Barrier failing, the Prime is in pieces, and Toby's people are about to become spider food.

     Beside the cairn,

   Beneath the wake,

     Darkness first,

 The path you make

• Language: English
• Publisher: C Amon Trant
• Release date: Dec 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201620707

C Amon Trant

C. Amon Trant is a retired physician, son, brother, husband, and -as his granddaughter so eloquently puts it- "GaGa." 

Book preview

Part 1

I

Toby raised his oak staff and circled right.

The opponent silently circled left, probing for weakness.

She struck first, finding his arm and leg.

He limped back a few steps, then attacked with a long series of blows, but she easily deflected every move like he was a fly.

He dripped with sweat.

She glistened from the heat. Not their battle.

She made a flurry of feints and thrusts, followed by savage blows to his legs, arms, and back; he made several feeble attempts to counter-attack, but she gave no quarter.

She thrust at his head, and Toby made the ultimate mistake; he blinked.

Before his mind understood her attack, his legs pointed skyward, and the ground stole his breath.

Unable to move, he stared into the deep blue sky. He sat up on his elbows and said, Take - take it easy, Sam.

She brought her staff within millimeters of Toby’s nose, forcing him to crawl back.

"Friends call me Samantha." She let her staff hang there.

Toby’s gaze cycled between his attacker and the blunt end of her staff.

"Ye will call me Keeper." Her accent made ‘Keeper,’ sound like ‘caper.’

She stepped away, Get up.

Rubbing his bruises, he picked up his staff and limped into position.

A fountain gurgled on the other side of the now verdant garden over the west wing of Dúnbarnaugh Castle. Fragrant summer flowers bloomed along the wall. All these sights, sounds, and smells brought back memories of a different time. And a different Keeper.

The warm sunshine on his face, as warm as the Prime Amulet hanging from his neck, was a welcome relief to the frigid January winds he’d left at home only this morning.

Did anyone train ye with a quarterstaff?

It’s a stick.

As she set two flowerpots -full of soil- on the low wall of the courtyard, muttering to herself, How are ye still alive?

Now in full voice, Hit one of them.

Toby held the staff near the middle, as he’d seen in those Robin Hood movies. He got closer, swung, and cracked the pot.

He nodded. Not too bad.

She gripped the staff like a sword, her right hand at the butt and her left hand a few centimeters higher. She raised the weapon to her left side with the tip pointed straight up. This is the high guard position.

She then stepped forward with her right foot, swung like a major league ballplayer, and turned the pot into dust.

She held the weapon out in front. This is the middle guard position. She lowered the staff. Low guard. Still facing Toby, she brought the staff around to her back with the tip now well behind her. This is rudder guard. Now concentrate! Attack!

Yes, Keeper.

He began circling to his left. Mentally searched for some chink in her defense.

She was a lefty; playing toward her advantage might throw her off.

Moved closer and slammed his staff against hers.

Aimed for her hands, but she quickly blocked each gambit.

The crack of the wooden staffs echoed off the garden wall.

Arms burning, he grunted with each fresh attack.

His new Keeper, an ancient woman of at least thirty, circled him with grace and increasing speed.

She thrust at his head, and he barely blocked the blow. She spun her staff around and clipped his shin in that same spot.

He grunted and limped backward.

She thrust toward his stomach.

He blocked the jab but, too late, recognized the same move.

With the strength of a flood, she delivered blows to his right shoulder, left elbow, right ribs, and left knee.

Once again, his legs pointed skyward, and he landed hard on his back.

When the air finally filled his lungs, and he said, Give up?

On your feet.

Wait, a second.

She kicked him. Move!

He sat up on his elbows. Hey! Chill out, lady!

She lifted her staff over her head and swung down. The wood swished past his ear and dug into the turf by his arm.

He held his breath.

Her eyes almost bulged out of her plain, round face. Ye will do, she paused for a second, exactly as I say.

Toby’s heart was in his throat. He swallowed it down and kept silent.

If we are ever in battle, and God help us if we are, we will die if ye can’t listen.

She stepped away. Get - up.

He never took his eyes off the woman as he found his feet. He stood tall and looked down at the shorter, muscular woman.

Who says you’re in charge?

She regarded him for several seconds.

Sweat ran down the side of her face; her short brown hair stuck to her face and neck. Smallpox scars marked both cheeks.

Ye think ye’re ready to lead?

I’m Messenger.

She laughed.

Hey! He lifted his staff.

Stone-faced, she slowly raised her staff. Don’t start something ye can’t finish. This could get ugly.

He stepped back and lowered his staff.

Answer me, she said.

What?

Are ye ready to lead?

I think so.

"Ye think so." She shook her head, turned, and walked away.

Hey!

She kept walking.

Who do you think you are?

She stopped, then spun around. "I am Keeper. Her brogue made the word sound like ‘caper.’ Ye are still a boy, whose training was inadequate in a thousand ways. I don’t know how ye survived."

He wanted to argue, but she was right. He’d spent a few weeks in training before becoming Messenger. Teacher tested him too soon: everyone knew Toby just wanted to go home, and physical trainer, the former Keeper Lela, had an outside mandate: turn Toby or kill him.

Samantha looked toward the setting sun. Put away yer weapons and get some dinner. She placed her staff in the rack and rubbed a towel across her round face. I trust ye have assignments for Madame Strunk.

Again, she was correct. His schoolteacher had assigned three papers on this, his first day of school. Each task only involved several hours of work in the library (no internet or electricity), all due in the morning.

II

Toby walked toward the dining hall; he caught a whiff of something delicious, and his stomach growled.

Evening, Messenger, said a maintenance worker patching one of thousands of cracks in the castle walls.

Greetings, Messenger, said an elderly lady with a quick smile but slow feet.

Many people greeted him as he weaved through the narrow castle corridors.

His badge of office, the always warm Prime Amulet, swished against the inside of his tunic.

A picture containing metalware, accessory Description automatically generated

Occasionally, when he wasn’t wearing a shirt, the Prime would spin around, revealing the Triskelion mark on the back, the mirror image of the Mark on his chest, burned there a month ago in his timeline, just two days ago in this timeframe, the day he became Messenger.

The Prime bumped the burned area.

He winced, more from memory of the searing pain.

Toby entered the castle’s dining area and felt the weight of the stares.

Being Messenger had some benefits, the Prime being first on the list, but from his first day here as Messenger Candidate, he noted the looks from the ABT (anybody but Toby) team. And it was tedious then.

He didn’t stare at them whenever they tried to eat, walk down the corridors, or use the facilities.

His nose detected the fireplace and candles, but not food.

Evening, Mr. Messenger, said an older man working the serving line. His weathered face suggested many years outside, like a farmer or a guard.

Evening. Toby looked at the food in several bowls. Nothing looked edible. What’s good tonight?

The man looked down at the meager offerings and his smile faded. Well...

Toby sighed. Some things never change.

Sorry, sir. The older man’s shoulders sank,.

Once again, Toby regretted speaking before thinking. He stood taller and said, I’ll have the filet mignon.

The old man didn’t understand for a second, but then a smile blossomed across his lined face. And how would Sir like that prepared?

Rare, but I don’t want it to moo, not like that last time.

The old man beamed. Excellent, sir. The man spooned out something too lumpy to be soup and too thin to be stew.

Toby looked at the old man and said, Thank you, sir.

You are most welcome, Mr. Messenger.

Toby walked away. He turned and said, What’s your name?

The old man seemed surprised for a moment. Me mother named me Insalaco.

Interesting name.

She was an interesting lady.

Toby tipped his head toward the dining area. Care to join me?

Oh, I couldn’t.

Please?

I can’t.

I insist.

I..., he pointed at the serving line, I’m working.

Oh, right. Sorry. Some other time?

He smiled. I look forward to it.

Toby paid the two silver pieces, looked across the vast chamber, and saw one empty table, their table, the one he shared with his former Keeper Lela.

He walked to the opposite side of the chamber, and a small table opened.

He regarded the plate and remembered that TV chef: she said we eat first with our eyes.

This brownish stuff failed.

Next, the taste.

He caught a bold note of rosemary, but under that, a hint of savory and red wine.

Toby didn’t know the cook, but they had skills.

Stop it, Lela said. She pulled her arm away.

Toby, and everyone else in the dining hall, looked at this thin, disheveled version of the former Keeper.

Please come back, said her brother, Raymond, the current Tester of the Realm.

Toby caught Lela’s eye, and she made a beeline to his table. The wild look in her eye and dappearance gave Toby a chill.

Not knowing what to expect, Toby stood.

They think I’m crazy. She enveloped him in a hug. Tell them, Tobias. Tell them!

Part of him wanted the hug to go on. The thinking part tried to squirm away.

She clung even tighter.

Raymond gently put his hand on her arm. You said you were hungry. You promised to be good.

No! She snatched her arm from Raymond and hugged Toby tighter. Help me!

In a flash, he was back in the cavern, Spiders all around her, and Lela saying those exact words to lure Toby to his death.

People were staring. He peeled her off, and his gaze shifted several times from Lela to Raymond.

Come on, Sis, Raymond said.

No! She turned her pleading eyes and said, "Save me, Toby."

Toby’s face hardened.

Lela must have sensed his change. She took several steps backward. Don’t shoot me!

I– Toby looked at Raymond. I wasn’t–

Raymond suddenly looked ten years older. I know. He gently took Lela’s elbow. Would you like to see the hawk?

Really?

He nodded.

When?

Come back to the room, and we’ll see him later today.

And my tree?

We’ll see.

She stomped her foot. That means no.

It just means we’ll have to see. Do you want me to lie? He reached out.

She hesitated, then let him take her hand and gently lead her out.

Within seconds, the dining room buzzed with the same question: what is wrong with her?

But how could they not know?

Toby resisted the temptation to ask someone, but Lela’s family hadn’t asked Toby to get involved. It was like Chase said about drama at school: ‘not my monkey, not my circus.’

Toby chose homework.

III

He avoided the main corridor -just too crowded this time of day- and headed for his room in the castle’s southern tower. He passed through the Hall of Heroes, lined with tapestries honoring Messengers, Testers, Teachers who died in office because of bad luck, must most because they screwed up.

The opposite wall had tapestries of all the Keepers because the Keeper’s school pays for them. He found his mom’s, and there was Lela’s, but he had to move on: the emotions were too strong.

And next to Lela’s was the wall space reserved for his new Keeper.

What is with that lady? No matter what, he was wrong, ignorant, or inadequate, unless he was all three at once.

He knew she had to be tough; she wasn’t a football coach. She and Toby might need to fight fully trained, highly motivated soldiers, but she didn’t need to enjoy Toby’s pain.

He climbed the final turn up the staircase to his room. The room looked the same, but why was he surprised? He’d been home in South Carolina for a month, but he shifted back to Dúnbarnaugh the second he’d shifted out: this room was only a few hours older.

He shook his head to remove the cobwebs.

Lighting the candle on the desk, he laid out the books, parchment, nib pen, and a bottle of ink to write his three papers: symbols of Alchemy, the last King of Dúnbarnaugh, and the great golden Visio, also called the Orb or Kennen depending on who had the artifact. That last report was a snap since he was the only person who used the Orb, even though no one knows who built it, when, or best of all, how it worked.

The alchemy paper was too dull to tackle just yet, so he opened the other book on the last king of Dúnbarnaugh and found the story of his multi-great grandfather. Some call him Tobias the First, but most people think they are just so hilarious: they call him Tobias the Great when Tobias the Second is standing right there.

This author described the legendary battle two centuries ago, where the One killed both Tobias and the last King of Dúnbarnaugh, but not before Tobias created the Great Barrier. The author then droned on page after page about the courageous Council Leader Meade, hero of the people, who chose not to focus on his vast lands and enormous flocks, but