The Gift of Battle. Morgan Rice

old beliefs, passed down by their parents. When will you be bold enough to cast off their beliefs and serve you?”

      Gwen frowned, not buying his philosophy.

      “And take on whose beliefs instead?” she asked. “Eldof’s?”

      He shook his head.

      “Eldof is merely a conduit,” he replied. “He helps cast off who you were. He helps you find your true self, all you were meant to be. That is whom you must serve. That is who you will never discover until your false self is set free. That is what Eldof does: he sets us all free.”

      Gwendolyn looked back at his shining eyes, and she could see how devoted he was – and that devotion scared her. She could tell right away that he was beyond reason, that he would never leave this place.

      It was scary, the web that this Eldof had spun to lure all these people in and trap them here – some cheap philosophy, with a logic all to itself. Gwen did not want to hear any more; it was a web she was determined to avoid.

      Gwen turned and continued walking, shaking it off with a shudder, and continued up the ramp, circling the tower, gradually going up higher and higher, wherever it was leading them. Kristof fell in beside her.

      “I have not come to argue the merits of your cult,” Gwen said. “I cannot convince you to return to your father. I promised to ask, and I have done so. If you do not value your family, I cannot teach you to value it.”

      Kristof looked back at her gravely.

      “And do you think my father values family?” he asked.

      “Very much,” she replied. “At least from what I can see.”

      Kristof shook his head.

      “Let me show you something.”

      Kristof took her elbow and led her down another corridor to the left, then up a long flight of steps, stopping before a thick oak door. He looked at her meaningfully, then pulled it open, revealing a set of iron bars.

      Gwen stood there, curious, nervous to see whatever he wanted to show her – then she stepped up and stared through the bars. She was horrified to see a young, beautiful girl sitting alone in a cell, staring out the window, her long hair hanging on her face. Though her eyes were wide open, she did not seem to take notice of their presence.

      “This is how my father cares for family,” Kristof said.

      Gwen looked back at him, curious.

      “His family?” Gwen asked, stunned.

      Kristof nodded.

      “Kathryn. His other daughter. The one he hides from the world. She has been relegated here, to this cell. Why? Because she is touched. Because she’s not perfect, like him. Because he’s ashamed of her.”

      Gwen fell silent, feeling a pit in her stomach as she looked at the girl sadly, wanting to help her. She started to wonder about the King, and started to wonder if Kristof had any truth to his words.

      “Eldof values family,” Kristof continued. “He would never abandon one of his own. He values our true selves. No one here is turned away out of shame. That is the blight of pride. And those who are touched are closest to their true selves.”

      Kristof sighed.

      “When you meet Eldof,” he said, “you will understand. There is no one like him, nor will there ever be.”

      Gwen could see the fanaticism in his eyes, could see how lost he was in this place, this cult, and she knew he was too far lost to ever return to the King. She looked over and saw the King’s daughter sitting there, and she felt overwhelmed with sadness for her, for this entire place, for their shattered family. Her picture-perfect view of the Ridge, of the perfect royal family, was crumbling. This place, like every other, had its own dark underbelly. There was a silent battle raging here, and it was a battle of beliefs.

      It was a battle Gwen knew she could not win. Nor did she have time to. Gwen thought of her own abandoned family, and she felt the pressing urgency to rescue her husband and her son. Her head was spinning in this place, with the incense thick in the air and lack of windows disorienting her, and she wanted to get what she needed and leave. She tried to remember why she’d even come here, then it came back to her: to save the Ridge, as she had vowed to the King.

      “Your father believes that this tower holds a secret,” Gwen said, getting to the point, “a secret that could save the Ridge, could save your people.”

      Kristof smiled and crossed his fingers.

      “My father and his beliefs,” he replied.

      Gwen furrowed her brow.

      “Are you saying it is not true?” she asked. “That there is no ancient book?”

      He paused, looked away, then sighed deeply and fell silent for a long time. Finally, he continued.

      “What should be revealed to you, and when,” he said, “is beyond me. Only Eldof can answer your questions.”

      Gwen felt a sense of urgency rising within her.

      “Can you bring me to him?”

      Kristof smiled, turned, and began to walk down the corridor.

      “As surely,” he said, walking quickly, already distant, “as a moth to a flame.”

      Chapter Five

      Stara stood on the precarious platform, trying not to look down as she was pulled higher and higher in the sky, seeing the vista expand with each yank of the rope. The platform rose higher and higher along the edge of the Ridge, and Stara stood there, her heart pounding, in disguise, the hood pulled low over her face, and sweat trickling down her back as she felt the desert heat rising. It was stifling this high up, and the day had barely broken. All about her were the ever-present sounds of ropes and pulleys, wheels squeaking, as the soldiers yanked and yanked, none realizing who she was.

      Soon, it stopped, and all was still as she was standing at the peak of the Ridge – the only sound that of the howl of the wind. The view was staggering, making her feel as if she were standing at the very top of the world.

      It brought back memories. Stara recalled the time she’d first arrived at the Ridge, fresh from the Great Waste, with Gwendolyn and Kendrick and all the other stragglers, most of them more dead than alive. She knew she was lucky to have survived, and at first, the sight of the Ridge had been a great gift, had been a sight of salvation.

      And yet now here she was, prepared to leave, to descend the Ridge once again on its far side, to head back out into the Great Waste, back out into what could be a sure death. Beside her, her horse pranced, its shoes clicking the hollow platform. She reached out and stroked its mane reassuringly. This horse would be her salvation, her ticket out of this place; it would make her passage back across the Great Waste a very different scenario than it had been.

      “I don’t recall orders from our commander about this visit,” came the commanding voice of a soldier.

      Stara stood very still, knowing they were talking about her.

      “Then I shall take that up with your commander himself – and with my cousin, the King,” Fithe replied confidently, standing next to her, sounding as convincing as ever.

      Stara knew he was lying, and she knew what he was risking for her – and she was forever grateful to him for it. Fithe had surprised her by being good to his word, by doing everything in his power, as he had promised, to help her leave the Ridge, to help her have a chance to go out there and find Reece, the man she loved.

      Reece. Stara’s heart ached at the thought of him. She would leave this place, however safe it was, would cross the Great Waste, cross oceans, cross the world, just for one chance to tell him how much she loved him.

      As much as Stara hated to put Fithe in jeopardy, she needed this. She needed to risk it all to find the one she loved. She could not sit safely in the Ridge, no matter how glorious and rich and safe, until she was reunited with Reece.

      The iron gates to the platform creaked open, and Fithe took