Burn

by Keri Arthur

  The commander snorted. “If she’d been transferred to the coruscation watchtower rather than the prison pod, we might not be facing the current problems.”

  “The pod contained the warrior who attacked the supply train being transported to Frio for interrogation,” the mage snapped back. “It made sense to divert it for her. The Helmer would have sorted them both out.”

  The Helmer? I had no idea what that was—and a deep suspicion I didn’t ever want to.

  But the commander’s comments at least explained how I’d ended up in the prison pod. They simply hadn’t suspected who I was or where I’d come from, and it had been the easiest option.

  “I take it her escape is the reason why we were ordered to destroy the coruscation—to negate the risk of others breaking free,” the commander said. “If so, we should have destroyed it far earlier. We would not now be facing the possibility of free drakkons and a revitalized enemy.”

  “If we’d been capable of destroying it earlier, we would have.” The mage’s fingers withdrew from my forehead, yet the chill of his touch remained. It felt as if I’d been branded. “But regular munitions would not have worked against the magic within. In their efforts to finally entrap and destroy the Kaieke, the mages of old poured all their energy and expertise into the coruscations, making them immune to all known magic and ammunitions at the time.”

  The commander grunted. “It would seem the mages of old had far more knowledge than those of you alive today.”

  “Those mages lost their lives in the development of the coruscations, and it left us bereft of magical expertise for well over a century,” the mage snapped again. “Only the foolish would wish a repeat.”

  The commander was either oblivious to the anger in the mage’s tone or he simply didn’t care. “What do you want done with her?”

  “The Helmer wishes her kept on ice. Kroon will be here within the next day or so. She will decide whether this Kaieke can be turned to our advantage or is best destroyed...”

  Whatever else he might have said faded. All I could hear was the too-fast pounding of my pulse in my ears, and all I could feel was pain. Pain in my chest, my spine, and my arm. Then it all collapsed in on me and I knew no more.

  The second time around, there was no gentle climb into wakefulness. It hit fiercely and abruptly, accompanied by the rapid pounding of my heart and the thick taste of fear in my throat.

  For several minutes, I didn’t move. I barely dared to breathe. I just waited for the hammer to fall, for death to fully claim me.

  She didn’t.

  I was alive—and, more importantly perhaps, relatively unbroken. That was so damn unexpected, a sob escaped before I could stop it. The sound echoed softly, but thankfully, nothing came from it.

  I took a deep but careful breath. No pain flared in response, and the pounding in my head had receded to little more than a background murmur. My fires, however, remained beyond reach. I hoped it wasn’t permanent—hoped it was simply an effect of whatever they’d been pumping into my system.

  But only time—and the fading of whatever magic or drug they’d used—would tell.

  I was no longer vertically chained to a wall of very cold stone but rather lying naked on a bed of one. The cuffs remained on my wrists and ankles, but there was no bandage around my arm and no needle in my vein. I shifted one leg a fraction; chains rattled between the two, but there didn’t seem to be anything securing me to the wall or even the base of the bed.

  Nor did the scent of the ice scum linger. The silence in the immediate area was thick and heavy, and the air touching my flesh as icy as the stone under my back. But I wasn’t cold. My fires may have been leashed beyond reach, but it hadn’t stopped them from keeping the chill from my skin.

  I wondered if that was the reason I’d woken. I suspected I wasn’t meant to, given the mage’s comment about keeping me on ice.

  The odd, almost dank mustiness I’d noticed earlier was back, and somewhere in the distance beyond this cell, water dripped. Thirst hit, along with the rumblings of hunger. I doubted, however, that either food or water would come my way anytime soon. Not until they’d decided what to do with me—and maybe not even then.

  I carefully cracked my eyes open. It wasn’t completely dark—a small globe just above the heavy-looking door washed a pale blue light through the cell. Aside from a hole in the stone floor that I presumed was a privy, and the chains dangling from the wall to the right of my stone bed, there was nothing else here. Whatever machine the Mareritt had used to monitor my vital signs had gone, and there didn’t appear to be any cameras or listening devices. Which struck me as odd despite the fact that the air was so cold it swirled visibly from the vent on the other side of the room.

  It really was damn cold in here.

  I shivered, though I suspected it was more psychosomatic than any real feeling of cold. My body heat was now high enough that the ice covering the stone underneath me had started to melt.

  I shifted fractionally and studied the door. It, like the rest of this room, appeared to be solid stone. No surprise there; my fires couldn’t affect it—not without using so much strength I’d basically incapacitate myself.

  After another look around to ensure I hadn’t missed a camera, I sat up. Vague twinges ran through my arms and legs—no doubt remnants of the pain that had come from them being stretched so far apart—but otherwise, I was surprisingly unhurt. My mind also felt clear, but that wasn’t likely to last once Kroon—whoever she might be—got here. While the fear that I was the reason Arleeon’s graces had been trapped within the coruscation remained, the mage’s statements pretty much confirmed I wasn’t currently under Mareritt influence.

  But there was absolutely no doubt they would attempt to reprogram me. And if they did manage to do so, I could cause untold damage to Esan, just as the kin who’d been turned in my time had to Zephrine.

  I had to get out before that happened.

  Had to.

  But how? This place was stone—nothing but stone. Sure, there was the vent, but it wasn’t big enough to shove an arm into, let alone the rest of me. I rose, then held still as dizziness hit. Once it had passed, I bent to lift the chain off the floor so it didn’t rattle and then shuffled over to the door.

  Unsurprisingly, the seals were tight—there was little point of pumping cold air into the room if it just leaked out again. So why was the frosty air swirling? That suggested there was a source of air coming into this room other than the vent.

  The door hinges and lock were also made of stone, but of a different type. They were green-gray in color, with swirls of red and black through them. Metamorphic rocks, I knew, and very similar to the ones Zephrine had mined from the old volcanoes scattered throughout the region. We’d used it for everything, from tankards and bowls to beautifully handcrafted furniture.

  I ran my fingers across the top hinge and briefly wished I had the ability to hear the whispers of the earth. Perhaps then I might have pulled forth the stone’s secrets and learned whether this room—and the hallway beyond—was in fact a surviving part of old Zephrine incorporated in the redesign. Because if that were the case, there was hope.

  It also meant that maybe, just maybe, my brothers had done me a huge favor by leading me into the old tunnels and then totally abandoning and forgetting about me all those years—centuries—ago.

  I shuffled around and drew in a deep breath. It damn near froze my lungs—at least until the inner heat surged in defense. But the fact that it responded so quickly perhaps meant whatever drugs they’d used were now clearing my system. It also suggested the Mareritt weren’t aware of the kin’s faster healing abilities—no doubt thanks to the fact that so few of us had ever been caught. Generally, when drakkons were killed, grief hit their riders so hard they took their own lives—and long before the Mareritt could get to them.

  I’d been lucky. I’d had Oma to fight the grief and Kaiden to protect me when I’d been totally and utterly unable to do either.

&
nbsp; The mustiness I’d smelled when I was on the bed wasn’t evident near the door, so it had to be coming from that side of the room. I moved over, drew in another breath, and found it. I could again hear the drip of water, even though the sound had some distance to it. This cell was definitely close to the old tunnels—now I just had to hope it had one of the old food hatches built in.

  I carefully shuffled forward and studied the area between the bed and the wall onto which I’d been chained. And there, sitting between the two, was the rusting metal remnant of an old food hatch. As escape routes went, it came with a couple of problems—the first being the fact that it wasn’t large; it was roughly thirteen by nineteen inches, which was just big enough to fit a standard serving tray filled with food. I’d followed my brothers through that space easily enough as a scrawny child, but it was debatable whether I’d do so now.

  The other problem was the fact that, in this part of old Zephrine, the walls were reasonably thick. I was about to force my body through what amounted to a small stone tunnel.

  I knelt and tentatively probed the remains of the hatch; metal flaked away at my touch, and it didn’t take much effort to remove it entirely. These hatches had been in a bad enough state when my brothers had led me into the tunnels. The two hundred years that had passed since then had only added to their deterioration.

  I lay on the floor and piled all the metal remnants onto my stomach. It would have been easier to go belly first, but given there was only a few inches wriggle room, at best, it basically meant scraping my breasts against the rough stone. Better my back any day.

  I braced my feet against the floor, raised my arms above my head so they wouldn’t be trapped against my sides, and then pushed back into the hatch tunnel. The cold stone tore at my skin, and my shoulders barely fit. I sucked in a breath and pushed again, gaining deeper cuts on arms and back from the metal remnants still lodged in the stone. Another push. More skin lost. I swore but kept going until I was able to grab the far end of the hatch and pull the rest of my body out. It hurt—a lot—but I was finally free.

  I didn’t immediately move. I just lay on my back in the darkness, listening to that distant dripping while I sucked in air that was dank and old but still far warmer than in the cell. Memories surged, and for a minute I was eight years old again, lost and alone and afraid. The hell my brothers had gotten from my parents when I’d eventually reemerged... I closed my eyes against the sting of tears. There was nothing I could do to save my family, but there were plenty of families in present-day Arleeon who could be saved.

  I scooped up the few remnants of metal that lay on my stomach and then pushed up onto my knees. Pain slithered across my abused back, and moisture trickled down my arms; some of the scrapes were obviously quite deep. I swore again and then reached back into the hatch, shoving some of the metal bits back into the edge slots and scattering the remainder around. It wouldn’t stand up to a close inspection—especially given the amount of blood and skin I’d lost—but it didn’t need to. I just needed it to fool a casual glance long enough for me to get away from this area. The problem then would be finding my way back to the main part of old Zephrine and somehow escaping.

  I glanced left and then right; both options were utterly dark, but the dripping sound came from the right, as did the slight movement of air.

  I headed that way, keeping my fingers on the wall as a guide. Progress was by necessity slow—not only because of the chains and the fact it was ink dark but also because I was barefoot. The stone was either wet or slimy—sometimes both—and the last thing I needed after getting out of the cell was to slip and break something.

  The tunnel wove through the darkness but never seemed to get any closer to the source of that steady dripping. The drifting air sometimes held pockets of warmth or the scent of baking bread, but they were little more than teasing remnants that faded as quickly as they appeared.

  I had no idea how much time passed; it seemed like ages, but that could simply have been a product of my growing pain and tiredness. I needed to rest, but I also needed food and water.

  To get either, I had to find a way out of here.

  Then, from up ahead, came the faintest shimmer of light. My pulse kicked into a higher gear and I stopped. The light was static, and there was no sound to suggest anyone waited up ahead. It was simply a pale green glow that barely lifted the darkness; I had no idea if it came from a natural source or was man-made. I hesitated and then moved forward again. As I drew closer, I realized what it was, and once again my pulse skipped. I’d come across a similar patch of bioluminescent fungi when I’d originally gotten lost in these tunnels, though whether it was the same patch or a different one I had no idea. But what were the chances of there being two such places within this tunnel system?

  Probably far higher than I’d want, I thought somewhat wryly.

  The fungi grew in a round chamber that was the intersection of five different tunnels. Water dripped from the ceiling, and a mini stream came out of a tunnel to my left and disappeared into one on my immediate right. The air was far warmer here than in the tunnel behind me, which suggested that at least one of these exits either ran past a heat source or had an outside egress. The question was, which one?

  I scanned the chamber, looking for clues, looking for anything that set off a memory. But I’d only been a kid when I’d last been here, and two hundred years had passed since then. If there had been clues here, they were long eroded.

  I hesitated, then walked across to the small stream and squatted beside it. After scooping up some water, I gave it a careful sniff. It held no scent—certainly there was nothing to suggest it was in any way fouled—but I nevertheless stuck in a finger and carefully tasted it. It was cold and crisp, with a slightly bitter taste that suggested there was at least some sulfate in it. If that was the only element it contained, then it was probably safe. Even so, I only drank enough to ease the burning in my throat and clear a little of the light-headedness. After washing down my arms and hips, and then dribbling water down my throbbing back, I rose, stepped across the stream, and shuffled toward the tunnel almost directly opposite. Maybe it was a memory I couldn’t quite snare, but something about the tunnel called to me.

  Once again, I kept my fingers against the wall. The floor was at least flat here and free from the moisture and slime that had hampered my movements in the other tunnel. It didn’t mean I could travel any faster, however. The inky darkness had returned.

  It quickly became evident that it wasn’t memory that had drawn me into this tunnel. Nothing about it seemed in any way familiar—not the growing feeling of space, the increasingly rough walls that suggested I’d left the man-made tunnel system far behind, or the number of what I suspected were stalagmites I kept running into.

  After a while, a soft sound reverberated through the darkness. I paused, cocking my head to one side, listening intently.

  Footsteps.

  Four sets, walking toward me.

  I thrust a hand through my wet and tangled hair. Could Túxn not give me a break? I was naked, tired, and aching. My fire remained out of reach, and I was lost in a maze of dark tunnels somewhere under Zephrine. Surely I’d given enough skin and blood to satisfy even the goddess’s demands of compensation?

  The footsteps grew louder. I took a deep breath, then picked up the leg chains so they didn’t rattle and carefully retraced my steps until I found the mini forest of stalagmites I’d fumbled my way around earlier. It wasn’t much cover, but it was all I had.

  Once I’d squatted behind them, there was nothing more I could do but hope whoever approached didn’t see me.

  The four were close now. My heart hammered and sweat dribbled down the side of my face. I swiped it in annoyance and then stilled the movement as light speared the darkness ahead. May the wind help me—they had flashlights...

  In the brightness of that light, the stalactites and stalagmites shone a deep and bloody red. The tunnel was high and rounded, and the walls etched deep wi
th ripples that reminded me of waves. Lava waves, I knew. This was one of the old tubes I’d told Kaiden about.

  Four shadowy figures stepped around the corner. My breath caught in my throat and I held still, despite the gathering urge to run. The light hit the small forest of stalagmites I was tucked behind, and the footsteps abruptly stopped.

  Then an all too familiar voice said, “Nara?”

  Kaiden.

  I sucked in a deep breath and rose, raising one hand against the brightness of the light. “How the hell did you find your way into this place? And where is this place?”

  “If it’s not the lava tube you mentioned in Esan, then it’s one close to it.” His expression was hard to make out, but I heard the emotion in his voice. It was relief, concern, and caring, all wrapped in one heartwarming mix. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m tired, thirsty, and hungry, but otherwise fine.” Though my voice was even, it nevertheless held an underlying tremor. We were as far from safe as we could get, but I was no longer alone in this underground maze, and the relief that surged was so damn strong I was all but shaking.

  Kaiden continued to walk toward me, but his three companions stopped. They were little more than black shadows thanks to the flashlights, but they appeared to be loaded down with supplies and weapons.

  Kaiden propped the flashlight on one of the stalagmites, directing the beam onto the ceiling rather than at me. His face was etched deep with weariness, but his eyes shone with so much emotion it made my heart skip.

  The others might be here for tactical purposes, but Kaiden had come here for me.