I held the Coldmaker closer to my chest, wondering how I could at least save the machine. Even if I was disposable, the discovery was of the utmost importance. If I had enough time, I could have used the metal corners of the machine itself to dig a proper hole into the clay where it might hide.
Cam unshouldered all the supplies he was burdened with, shaking the basket of figs. ‘But why would she give us all of this, if it’s just a dead end?’
‘It makes sense,’ I said, sniffing my arms and enjoying the scent of life for what might be the last time. Even beneath the rosemusk I could smell ash and fire. ‘Now they can do everything in secret and not worry about rebellion. Like the mistake they made with Matty.’
‘For someone who helped crack the secret to Cold,’ Shilah said, turning to me, ‘you’re being quite glum.’ She stabbed a finger against the red on the wall. ‘Alder. Also known as Alder of Langria.’
I paused, trying to remember how I knew that word. ‘Like the plant Leroi had on his table?’
Shilah nodded.
Cam gave a blank-faced stare.
‘Look closer,’ Shilah said, beckoning us forwards. ‘This blood spells out a word.’
Tentatively I stepped forwards and saw that without the cover of shadow the smears did indeed look like letters.
‘It says hope,’ Cam read, astonished. ‘How’d you know that stuff wasn’t blood?’
‘Because all Jadans know how blood dries,’ Shilah said, pushing open the whole wall with a single thrust and revealing a much larger chamber behind, dust clouding the air.
‘Huh,’ I said, my eyes having trouble taking in everything at once.
Cam nearly dropped the basket of figs. ‘Wow.’
‘Hurry,’ Shilah said, letting the wall close behind us and rushing forwards, practically ignoring all the sights before us that demanded admiration. The vast room itself was still encased in long clay walls, but unlike the crawlspace leading up to it, this chamber had overwhelming signs of past travellers.
The Opened Eye of the Crier was painted everywhere, in all different styles, drawn on with the same red alder as on the entrance wall. Hundreds of Eyes looked over the chamber and gave the room a hopeful air. Small assortments of trinkets and keepsakes sat along the perimeter of the walls, like shrines. Jadans were never allowed to own much, and even though the dust and neglect made it clear that none of my kin had been down here in a decade, the sense of creativity felt alive and electric.
There were makeshift dolls posed to look as if they were tearing off their slave-uniforms. And little ceramic bowls with gold paste filled the cracks around the shrines. Ragged sleeping blankets of all colours were pinned to the walls, making one broken, yet beautiful tapestry, while whistles carved out of broken cane sat poised and ready to sing. Broken hourglasses were fitted sideways so the sands would never fall, and links of rusted and shattered chains were woven between all the Opened Eyes. I saw a few taskmaster whips – obviously stolen – buried up to the hilt in the floor, as well as statues of ancient animals that must have been painstakingly chipped out of barrack bricks.
And prayers.
So many prayers, all carved directly into the walls. Words of thanks and fear and hope and pleas for guidance. They weren’t all written in the common tongue of Paphos, either. There were letters I didn’t recognize, ancient designs with tails and loops and dots studding the bottom lines. I couldn’t stop looking around at the words, stunned by how many Jadans had been down here; all hopeful, preparing to make the journey to paradise.
Cam plucked a Wisp off one of the shrine tables. ‘Someone left Cold behind.’
Shilah shrugged. ‘You’d probably give anything you had too, if you knew it might help keep you safe. Sacrifice is a big thing with my people.’
‘But Cold?’ Cam asked. ‘Wouldn’t they want to use it? It’s a long way North, and the Sun is even stronger there.’
Shilah shook her head, as if Cam was missing something obvious.
‘What?’ Cam asked, putting the Wisp back down. ‘Is that offensive to touch?’
Shilah looked at me, her eyes resolute. ‘The Vicaress can read, too. And I guarantee she knows the difference between alder and blood. We need to keep moving.’
I nodded, but a part of me wanted to read every single prayer down here, and touch every gift, thinking about the Jadans who might have left them behind. They’d challenged the Khat’s Gospels to try their luck in this Coldmarch. They must have believed our people were more than dirt, that we weren’t supposed to be slaves.
Even without a Coldmaker, they had taken a leap.
If only they could see the machine in my arms.
‘You’re right,’ I said, my hand trembling as I pressed it against my machine. The metal was cool to the touch, even after all that time under Sun.
Shilah quickly led us through the decorated chamber, which at the end funnelled into another small space. Before we pushed into the mouth of the new tunnel, Shilah stopped and moved her head from side to side. If possible she drew her back even straighter, whipping her braid around so it was out of her face. The walls were closer near the exit, and two tallies of names had been etched on either side.
‘Lost,’ I read on top of the left wall.
‘Saved,’ Shilah said, pointing to the right.
The ‘saved’ side had considerably fewer names than the ‘lost’ side – which had hundreds, if not thousands, of names carved in, spanning floor to ceiling. I let my eyes scan the rows top to bottom, feeling more and more dismayed the closer to the ground I got, even spotting a few ‘Micahs’ along the way. Had all these Jadans really been killed in the name of freedom?
And then I reached the final name on the wall.
It looked entirely fresher than the rest, scraps of clay sprinkled on the floor underneath. It must have been why Mama Jana had so much earth trapped under her cracked fingernails.
She’d scratched his name in by hand.
Abb.
Cam bent over and put a hand on my shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry, Spout.’
I swallowed hard, my knees shaking as I crouched.
It’s not that I didn’t know he was gone, but here was the first physical proof. Not just a vision, or the Vicaress’s words that could have turned out to be a lie. Here was the name of my father, the best slave I’d ever known.
Emotions tried to flood in, but I had no capacity to deal with them right now, so I swallowed them back.
It wasn’t even that hard.
‘Drop the bucket,’ I said casually under my breath, opening the lips of my bag and showing him the invention. ‘All because of you.’
‘Hmm?’ Cam asked.
I put the Coldmaker on the ground, and, instead of grabbing one of the Abbs already tucked into the inside pocket, I flipped the machine on.
The air in the cave quivered as my invention went to work, a cool breath drawn from the entire tunnel. Wind whipped across the shrines, the temperature changing in the room. Why the machine worked was a mystery I intended to examine, but at least for now I had a general idea. The vials were opened as the gears turned. A few tears fell on the Frost first, which sat in its Cold Charge bath. This caused the initial reaction. Then a drop of my Jadan blood was let out at the catch-point as a starter material, where the gold gathered and bundled to form an Abb.
From a strictly inventive standpoint, the procedure was simple and straightforward, nothing other than a natural response.
Cause and effect. Simple. Emotionless.
As the new Abb came to life, I shut off the machine and plucked up the golden bead. A crisp scratching came from behind me, so I spun around and found Shilah with a long blade in her hand. It was folded steel, the silver handle ornate as they came. She was doing something to the bottom of the ‘saved’ wall. From my vantage it looked almost as if she was crossing a name out.
‘What are you doing?’ Cam asked.
Shilah finished and pressed her back to the place she’d marred, hiding the evide
nce. ‘Let’s keep moving.’
‘Can I borrow that?’ I asked, pointing to the blade. I was actually glad of Shilah’s thievery. Mama Jana had a decent collection of blades behind the counter, and we would need it more than the shopkeeper did.
Although perhaps not if the hounds had found her.
Shilah tossed the blade at my feet. I gently prised a nook out of the second ‘b’ in Abb’s name, big enough so as to make my own kind of shrine. I stuffed the fresh, golden Abb in the space, snug and secure, and then closed my eyes, offering a prayer I was sure was not the first of its kind to echo across these walls.
‘Let’s go,’ Shilah said, this time gently. ‘We don’t know how long this next stretch of tunnel is going to be.’
‘One more thing,’ I said.
I picked an empty spot on the wall and carved in a small feather.
Chapter Four
We were stuck underground for much longer than expected.
Whoever had built this part of the Coldmarch had used the natural cracks in the land for a foundation, presumably to decrease the amount of actual digging that needed to be done. Since the Builders had used the existing spaces already waiting underground, the way through ended up being complex and disorientating. The compass told me we were zig-zagging back and forth beneath the city, quite often straying from North. Some of the natural cracks in the earth were huge, the size of Cry Temples, with sporadic holes that plunged downwards into a forever sort of darkness. Often in the distance we heard the sounds of rushing water, leaving me to wonder how close we were to the River Singe. We made sure to follow the red alder line painted at our feet so as not to get lost or stray off the designated path. In other sections the walls became incredibly congested, scarred with hundreds of scratches. I imagined the marks were from bodies and supplies trying to squeeze through.
We had no way to tell time in the darkness, but I imagined it was a few days. We stopped to sleep twice, both times finding sanctuary off the path in case the Vicaress had found her way down here. We only intended to rest for a few hours, just to gather our strength, although it was hard to judge how long we slept, since we had to extinguish the lamp each time to conserve fuel. Shilah and I slept with our bodies pressed together, our arms linked, belts looped together. This was both for warmth, but also for safety, in case something foul tried to snatch one of us away in the dead of night. Shilah thought I was being paranoid, but she was the one who’d suggested the knotted belts. I offered to have Cam sleep on my other side, tied to us, but he kept declining, insisting on staying awake and keeping guard. I’d told him this was unnecessary, since he wouldn’t be able to see, but he wouldn’t listen, keeping at the edges of whatever nook in which we took refuge, constantly vigilant.
By the third leg of the trip his eyes were as red as the alder line.
He also refused to eat any more of the figs. They didn’t last long anyway.
Not much was said as we made the journey. There was no reason for the silence, but I had a feeling Cam and Shilah were nervous for the same unsaid reason. None of us wanted to be the one to startle something ancient living down here in the dark. So far there had been no red eyes or grinding of unseen fangs, but anything was possible so far beneath the sands of Paphos. The world was different down here, cool and dark, and apart from the threat of Hookmen and Firegogs, it was a fitting start towards paradise. There was no Sun to bake us dry, no taskmasters waiting to scar our backs, no Nobles using our bodies for their own gain. For the Jadans who took their chances on the March, it would have been their first taste of peace.
‘Do you like being called Jadans?’ Cam asked, his quiet voice thunderous after so much silence. We were trudging through a thin clay corridor with crystal cones hanging above our heads and sometimes reaching the floor. The pointy wedges made it feel as if we were threading our way through a giant mouth. There had still been no sign of the Vicaress on our heels, no flaming dagger in the dark, so we’d been able to slow the pace down a bit. The overall mood had grown a bit lighter, since, despite the constant threat of danger, we had yet to be eaten. Even I was feeling the smallest twinges of hope. Unfortunately, every time my chest tried to kindle the sensations into happiness, all I could think about were the names carved into the ‘lost’ wall.
I examined a particularly thick crystal tooth, wondering what sort of benefit the shiny material might have offered crushed up. Leroi would have known.
‘As opposed to?’ I asked Cam, ducking low as I moved away, so as not to be speared by the tip.
‘Well,’ Cam said, lowering his voice. ‘Since the Great Drought, there’s a negative connotation involved with the word.’
Shilah glared back at us.
‘Not that I think anything is wrong with it,’ Cam said quickly. ‘It’s just that I’ve heard my brother and uncles – and obviously my father – say “Jadan” with such hate. They make it sound worse than saying slave. Is there something else you want to be called? Because I’ll call you that if you want.’
‘What brought this on?’ I asked.
‘I figure if we get out of here alive then—’ Cam got flustered, the crystal cones gently reflecting the redness of his cheeks. ‘I don’t know, I thought that maybe you’d want your people to be called something else. And I could be the one to start it now. It’s dumb, sorry. Forget it.’
‘When we bring things back to how they were supposed to be,’ Shilah said with a snort, ‘just don’t call us Nobles.’
Cam adjusted the bags of supplies on his shoulder so he could avoid a crystal pillar more easily. I imagined the bags must have grown quite cumbersome after so long, not as much as my burden, but unwieldy nonetheless.
‘Just forget it,’ he said.
‘It’s considerate of you.’ I tried to sound consoling. ‘But Jadan is something to be proud of. If anything, we’ll just have to change the connotation.’
‘Whatever you need,’ Cam said, giving an agreeable bow, as low as he could manage without spilling everything. His eyes went to Shilah. ‘Just let me know.’
I stared back at him, blinking a few times. The lantern light barely reached him, and his shiny yellow hair now looked black from all the dirt and dust it had attracted.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘Nothing.’ I nodded, noting his eyes had moved to the Coldmaker. ‘I believe you.’
I licked my finger and touched the nearest pillar, bringing it back to my mouth. My tongue recognized the delight better than my eyes.
‘Salt,’ I said.
Cam immediately reached up and cracked off the tip of the nearest pillar, stuffing it in the bag. Shilah shot him a look, as if reminding him we shouldn’t be drawing attention to ourselves.
Cam licked his dry lips. ‘When we get to Langria we’ll have to have a feast, and I can say I brought the free Jadans salt from the Coldmarch. As a gift.’
I smiled, although it didn’t climb past my lips.
‘And,’ Cam said with a glimmer of pride, ‘you need salt for the Coldmaker, right? To keep the Charge.’
‘Good thinking,’ I said with a nod. ‘Let’s get a few.’
Shilah shrugged, and we all snapped off a handful of salt each, adding it to Cam’s supply bag. I pressed my hands to my nose afterwards, but there wasn’t any scent.
‘Salt and Abbs and revolution,’ Cam said as we started moving again, following the alder. He immediately stopped and then gestured for Shilah to lead us, giving her a respectably wide berth. ‘It should be quite the feast.’
Our next stop took place beside a tiny stream, which had carved a shallow bed into smooth rock as it cascaded endlessly into the darkness. We’d heard the rushing waters from the alder path and wound our way to its shores to fill up our waterskins. Gentle currents had brushed the endless tunnel wide, making the passage seem both frightening and serene. The waters were some of the most delicious I’d ever tasted, possibly because they’d been kept away from Sun for an eternity. We only needed to add the smallest slices of Abb
to get them to cool.
The journey had already begun to thin Cam out, his voice hollow and cheeks sunken. I asked him to sleep. Begged him even. It ended up taking three direct commands to get him to agree to shut his eyes for one hour. I gave him much longer. While he snored, one foot hanging limp in the waters, Shilah and I talked of fragile things. She kept dipping one finger in the water and bringing it over my hand, letting the single droplets fall on the back of my palm. She did this until the puddle at my feet trickled its way back to the source, rarely meeting my eyes as we spoke.
We talked of meeting out in the dunes behind my barracks, when I invited her to join our family, but instead she disappeared out into the sands. She told me she used the Rope Shoes that I’d traded her for the Khatmelon quite a bit, which is something I’d always wondered. We joked about the days working with Leroi back in the Tavor tinkershop, hiding under the floor grate whenever anyone unfamiliar came knocking. We discussed at length all the plants she’d cultivated for Little Langria. About where she got the soil and seeds, and vines. About the humour of the weaver beetles that lived on her persimmons. She asked about the feather I’d scratched into the wall, and I told her about Matty and the board game we were creating; how close we’d come to finishing. About how Moussa, Matty, and I lessened the harsh tinge of the day by playing ‘whatsit’, where we made up stories to go along with the shapes of our bruises. She told me of the time she visited the Hotland Delta, having stowed away on a merchant ship. About how the High Nobles there had a certain ritual that they performed each night to pay tribute to the Crier. Each Sundown they would fold little boats out of Droughtweed and sail them along the Singe, a single Wisp floating in each hull. Shilah’s smirk was stupendous as she told me how she would wait downstream with a net to collect the boats. Over the course of a week she’d made a small fortune.
I told her what it was like with such a large family.
She told me what it was like to live alone.
We didn’t mention my father or her mother once.
Coldmarch Page 4
