by Aaron Bunce
Dennah hated the idea of having to camp in the deep snow, but at their rate, she couldn’t imaging getting anywhere near the crossroads to Bardstown by sunset.
“So you are from Bargeron?” Dennah asked the scar-faced man. Uncomfortable conversation seemed preferable to their awkward silence.
“Yup,” the man said simply.
“Did you serve there?” she asked.
“We all served Lord Russo at one time, in some fashion,” he said next, shifting in the saddle.
“Did you enlist?”
He shook his head, but didn’t speak. That told Dennah all she needed to know. They were likely men forced into service, perhaps pulled from debtor’s prison, or the like.
She didn’t push the conversation any further. They progressed up the road for a while longer, until Freckles began to labor once again.
“I need to walk and give my horse a break,” she said.
The scarred man turned in his saddle, stretching his back and glancing up and down the road. He gave her a quick nod, before glancing over her shoulder.
“It’s nothing personal. This is just business,” he said.
Dennah grabbed for her sword as something snapped behind her. A tremendous force slammed into her side and the world tipped. She saw dark, skeletal trees, and then snow.
* * * *
Henri followed Luca through the festival. He watched the boys skulking around the tables behind them. He remembered the sensation on his hands when he shoved the bully aside. He hadn’t meant to, but his anger got the best of him. The same thing happened when he swatted the wadded up parchment out of Luca’s hands.
Emotion, he thought. That is the key. That is how I help him.
Henri figured that his emotions allowed him to break through from the Phantom Road to move or touch things in Luca’s world. The revelation felt monumental, until he reminded himself that he still had no idea how to help him.
Luca sat on a bench at the back of the large fest hall, watching the girl he had escorted dance with the young man from the carriage. Henri wanted to pick him up and hold him, to tell him that none of it was his fault.
Henri struggled to not lash out as the other boys started walking by, stumbling and limping mockingly. He moved to shoo them away, only to turn back and find Luca limping out of the room.
Henri followed him out, through the entrance hall, and into another chamber. Luca limped forward, gawking at the treasures perched on columns and hanging on the walls. However, Henri’s eyes locked on a brilliant pillar of light streaming in from above.
It cut in through the ceiling, like a beam of pure sunshine. He followed the rope around, until he stood before the item bathed in the bright light.
Luca limped up next to him, his eyes falling on the strange, egg-shaped item. Henri ducked under the rope and got closer, his face hovering just above the treasure.
Small, bright particles floated in air, flitting around the object and dancing in and out of the light. Henri recognized the strange relic from the drawing Luca stashed under his pillow. The same one the boy crumpled up and Henri swatted away.
Luca rocked back and forth, his hand hanging before him. Henri looked up and saw a guard turning at the end of a long hall. The man was walking their way, his figure consumed by shadow. Something moved around him, something dark, which stirred with halting, unnatural movements.
He looked back and found Luca hanging over the rope, his hand clutching for the strange item, but he couldn’t reach. Luca tried again, then pulled away and struggled to move under the rope. Henri ducked down, wanting to help Luca as his face was wracked with pain.
The guard was approaching, more of the dark figures appearing out of the shadows behind him.
He needs it…you’re showing me, Henri thought suddenly. The pillar of light was his sign.
Standing straight, Henri focused his emotions. He channeled his fear, doubt, and love for his son, and grabbed the relic. He rolled it off of the pillow and to the very end of the column, where he held it in place.
Luca watched it, his eyes growing wide, but then snatched it up and stuck it in his coat. Henri hoped that he was doing the right thing. He hoped that he was helping Luca, and not condemning him.
“Move, Luca,” he said, urging his son faster, but the girl appeared, blocking his path.
Henri looked back. The guard had walked in from the hall, a mob of the twitching, jerking shadows in his wake.
“Move around her, Luca. You need to leave,” he yelled out, but the girl wouldn’t let him pass.
The guard was walking around the back corner, his eyes moving toward the now empty pillow. Henri turned back to his son just as a cold, wet weight fell over his back. Henri wrenched free of the delirium and shoved it back. It toppled onto the ground, screeching loudly.
He watched as the rest of them perked up. They were all looking at him, their eyes gleaming at him like shiny black mirrors. Henri reached forward and pushed the girl. He didn’t want to hurt her, but it was the only way to help Luca.
His son limped forward slowly, so Henri scooped him up in an arm and hefted him forward. The girl followed. Henri guided Luca out the door, kicking one of the shadowy creatures free as he channeled all of his fear toward the door. It slammed shut violently.
The guard crashed into the door, his weight nearly jarring Henri loose. Dark, hungry fingers crept through the gap between the door and the jamb. They bubbled forth, seeping out of the crack like smoke, only to turn solid once again.
Henri watched Luca and the girl disappear out through the door, his hold on the door weakening. He fought, desperate to give his son time to put distance between himself and the guard.
His grip finally broke and the door swung open. Dark figures exploded through the doorway, swarming over him in a wave. Henri fell to the ground, a mass of writhing arms, legs, and gaping mouths all around him.
A mouth clamped down onto his arm, and another on his leg. He cried out, pushing and shoving against the creatures as they fed on him.
“No!” he screamed, suddenly remembering the blade Herja gave him. He snaked his hand down under a cold body and wrapped his fingers around the handle.
The blade pulled free, its glow instantly cutting through the dark creature’s bodies. Wrenching the dagger up, Henri plunged it into the delirium lying on his chest. The blade punched into the dark body, its light instantly burning the creature from the inside. It screeched and writhed, before scrambling free.
Henri stabbed and sliced at the other creatures, the weapon searing and severing any part it touched. Limbs fell away, dissolving to mist as they hit the ground. He regained his feet, the deliriums crowding back in. Waving the blade in an arc before him, Henri held the creatures back, until finally he was able to turn and run from the building.
He ran out into the night, catching sight of the guard right away. The man ran down the street, his right hand holding his helm on his head.
Henri ran, leaping over scratchy shrubs and bins with ease. He felt like a child again. Strong and fast. The guard cut between two buildings right before he got there. Henri could see Luca and the girl a short ways ahead. His son was struggling, while the girl did everything she could to help him along.
“Stop!” the guard yelled, pulling a club out of his belt.
Henri ducked around the guard and tipped over a rubbish bin directly before him. The man didn’t have time to jump or dodge aside. He pitched forward, cursing loudly. But he straightened his helm and got back up.
Henri muttered and cursed, running ahead, tipping over every rubbish bin, pot, and chair he could reach.
Chapter 38
Always a way
Roman followed Tusk through the tunnels. The dog moved quickly, stopping only to sniff the air before setting out again. Maintaining the bright flames covering his hand started to tax him, so he dimmed the fire to a single finger. But the light was hardly sufficient in the dim tunnels.
They wove through the tunnels, left, ri
ght, back, and then right again. Roman became turned around, twisted on himself, and thoroughly lost. To make matters worse, he continued to stumble across bodies. Each one sat in the tunnel, lost and forgotten, stripped of its flesh, with only a solitary, stub of a candle for comfort.
“That will not be me,” Roman mumbled every time he came across one. Tusk growled, his search driven by Roman’s growing anxiety.
Roman started to question his decisions since leaving the cell, even though he knew he really didn’t have the luxury of choices. This path was his only option.
What if there wasn’t an exit to the tunnels? What if this was just part of a cruel game? It made the stone around him feel closer, heavier, and the ceiling lower. The air also started to choke him. He struggled to breath, wanting nothing more than to see the open sky above him and take in the cold air. Roman shook himself free from those thoughts. He had come this far. He was alive, stronger, and had Tusk back.
His doubts lingered, despite his best efforts. Tusk woofed, his thoughts trickling through Roman’s mind. Something, albeit subtle had tipped the dog off. He couldn’t quite tell if it was a scent on the air, a current or breeze, or just an intuition, but it drove him forward.
The tunnel sloped up, the ceiling crowding down so low Roman had to stoop over to continue. Tusk led him past a pile of rubble. No it wasn’t rubble, Roman realized, but a pile of bodies.
A group of men sat clustered together, their skeletal arms intertwined. It looked as if they had crawled this far in the tunnel on their hands and knees, sat down together, and died. They had reached the end of their road, and instead of turning back and facing the noose, they resigned themselves to die of their own accord. At least they had each other.
Tusk stood before the men, his nose working over them curiously.
Were they what he was tracking? Roman wondered.
Moving around the bodies, Roman came to the end of the passageway. This time there weren’t any forks or intersections. The passageway simply came to an end. This was the end of his road.
Slapping his hand against the stone, Roman turned on the spot, using the light from his fire to search desperately, but there was only darkness and death.
“No-no-no!” Roman yelled in frustration, his voice echoing back, agreeing with him.
“This doesn’t make any sense. Why would he save me, help me, give me this strength, only to curse me to this tomb?” he asked. Tusk padded up and leaned against his leg, one of his ears flopping over in the wrong direction.
Tusk growled and whined, before setting his nose to the ground and working around the edge of the tunnel. Roman turned and watched as the dog moved over to the end of the tunnel. He sniffed the stone for a long moment, and then started pawing at it, digging at the stone.
“Its solid stone, boy. We’re trapped down here,” Roman said, but Tusk didn’t stop. He turned to Roman, growled, baring his teeth, and turned to resume digging at the stone.
Roman strode forward and worked his free hand over the rock, searching every inch of the surface, looking for a break or gap, anything to rekindle his hope. But there was nothing, the rock was smooth and flawless.
“Why?” he yelled angrily, kicking the stone with the toe of his boot once, and then twice.
Tusk barked, his ears perked as he turned in a circle. Roman looked to the dog, and swung his foot at the rock once again. His toe struck, thudding and echoing hollowly.
Ducking back down the tunnel, Roman pushed more of his energy out into his hand, rekindling the fire and making it brighter. He pulled one of the dead men aside and grabbed the fist-sized stone sitting between his legs.
Roman bent over and ran back up the tunnel. He reared back and drove the stone into the wall. The impact shook what he previously thought was stolid rock. He struck it again and again, the force jarring painfully up his arm.
Mortar and rock started to break loose. He continued to strike at the wall until a block the size of his head broke loose. Roman pulled it down, exposing timber.
A new hope blossomed inside him, driving him to claw and pound on the wall. Tusk appeared next to him, digging at the stone with his paws.
His rock broke apart, so Roman picked up one of the heavy blocks and used that to break the remaining stone loose. Gasping for breath, his arms aching from the effort, Roman stood atop a small pile of rubble, staring at a stout, wooden wall.
“You led me here, boy,” he said, ruffling the fur on Tusk’s head and ears.
“He said I would need two things,” Roman whispered, remembering not only the Crow’s words, but Haybear’s strange ramblings.
He reached forward and put his palm flat against the wood. His hand turned black, the skin turning to hard, ashy scale as fire burst forth. The flames crawled up the wall, dancing over and consuming the dry wood.
He backed away a moment later, covering his mouth with his shirt, Tusk hovering at his side. The flames consumed the wall, filling the tunnel with bright light. Smoke billowed overhead, hovering against the ceiling of the tunnel. It was frighteningly reminiscent of the barn, only this time he was in control.
The wall cracked and groaned, before falling backwards into the darkness. Roman stepped forward into the fiery debris. He felt the flames and their simple, primal need to consume and burn. He drew on them, pulling then into his body and feeding on them.
Fire and heat slipped up and over his skin, soaking into him like rain to parched soil. Tusk followed him through to the dark tunnel beyond.
Roman didn’t need his fire to light the way this time. A bright point of light sat ahead, beckoning him forward. He approached the light and discovered that it was coming from a jagged, natural vent leading above.
Tusk slipped into the light and stuck his head into the opening, his nose working eagerly over the fresh air drifting from above. He knelt down next to him and turned his head to look up. He could see bright sky far above, hanging tantalizingly beyond the narrow and jagged passage.
Tusk looked at him and woofed quietly.
“You might be a bit big to fit through that,” Roman said, but Tusk was already changing. His shoulders narrowed and his legs shortened. In just a few heartbeats the dog appeared half the size, and slipped easily into the opening.
“It’s a good thing I haven’t had a good meal in a while, because I can’t do that,” Roman said, whispering to himself. Then he wedged his shoulders through the narrow opening.
Rocks dug into his back and belly. There was just enough room to wiggle his arms forward for another hold. He pushed with his feet and squirmed forward.
Cold air washed over his face, as well as rocks and debris broken free from above. Tusk scrabbled ahead of him, his claws finding ample hold.
Sweat broke out on Roman’s face as he struggled through the tight space. He had to stop and rest, catch his breath, and wriggle forward again. He didn’t care how long it took, as long as he was moving forward he would be okay.
Tusk barked above him, a mound of snow and dust raining down on him, peppering his eyes and slipping down his shirt. His hand slipped and he slid back, rocks digging uncomfortably into him all over.
“Move…move,” he grunted, urging himself forward.
Hand over hand, he found purchase with his right foot and pushed forward. He squirmed and wiggled, snaking through the passage. Rocks banged and cut him, but he accepted it. It was just pain.
Finally, after an excruciating effort, his hands fell onto cold snow. He pushed forward, his bow and quiver snagging on the rock. He sucked in his breath and eased forward.
Roman’s hand extended out into the bright air above. He felt Tusk grab ahold of his sleeve and pull. His head pushed through, then his shoulders. His knees found purchase and then he fell forward into the snow.
The bright light burned his eyes, but it felt glorious. Rolling over, Roman waved his arms and legs in the snow, savoring the space around him. Tusk bit the leather strap of his quiver and pulled, forcing Roman into a seated position.
“Easy, boy. I just wanted a moment,” he breathed, but the dog pulled on him again, with alarming strength.
Roman stood, straightening his quiver and pulling the bow free. He looked back and caught sight of Fort Falksgraad off in the distance. Even with the wide creek valleys and woods between them, he still felt too close.
Tusk growled. It was a deep, threatening noise, one of caution and anger. Roman wedged the bow between his foot and the ground, compressed the top arm, and hooked the string.
“What is it, boy?” he asked.
Tusk stared out into the woods, his ears perked and his nose testing a scent on the air. And then he tore off at remarkable speed. Roman pushed off, following the dog through the deep snow, and the green, spectral trail that connected them.
* * * *
Luca followed Emma. Somehow he was able to stay ahead of the guard. He didn’t know how. He only cared that he did.
The lift didn’t run at night, so they were forced to take the stairs all the way down. He made it down several flights okay, but by the third he was fit to fall over.
“Give me your stick!” Emma whispered.
He handed her his crutch and then threw his arms over her shoulders. She hoisted him up, carrying him down the remaining stairs on her back.
There were few people out and about in the Lakeside Market. An occasional drunk sauntered by, but on a few occasions, they had to duck into the shadows as a guard appeared.
Emma continued to carry him. He insisted that he could walk, but she refused to put him down. Luca guided her down the boardwalk and had her go down the wrong alleyway between tents twice, before coming across the right one.
She set him down, insisting that he lead the way beyond that.
“I don’t understand why you took it,” she hissed in his ear.
Luca started to explain, but it came out wrong. He decided that she would have to see for herself. Once Cassida healed him, then she would understand.
