by Martha Wells
Ilias took a deep breath. “All right, let’s see.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully, looking at the dirt map again. There was another surface shaft at the opposite end of the city near where their friend had been lost. It wasn’t as easy to reach as this one but it would put them on the surface at about the same distance from the meeting point. He just didn’t like it; it hadn’t exactly been a lucky spot for him before. Ixion had set a family of grend to guard it too but maybe after so long they had wandered off or killed each other for lack of better prey. It didn’t matter, it was still the best option. The only option.
He rubbed the map out briskly, then drew his knife to make a quick trail sign giving the direction he meant to take on the rock wall. Tremaine and Florian watched with interest, then hurriedly got to their feet when he stood up. “We’ll probably all regret it,” he told them, “but let’s do it your way.”
Chapter 9
I’m beginning to take all this too personally, Tremaine told herself, trying to be philosophical though she was gritting her teeth with impatience. She, Florian and Ilias were crouched in the concealment of a fold of rock, their feet in another sulfur-laden puddle, as a Gardier patrol moved through the rocky passage just below them. They want to kill you because you’re from Ile-Rien. There’s nothing personal about it.
Tremaine was pressed against Ilias with Florian wedged in behind her. She could sense the tension in the hard muscles of his back as he watched the Gardier pick their way through the cave below them, their handlights drawing sparkles of reflected light out of the rough walls slick with purplish moss. The alliance with Ilias seemed to be working well and they were getting better at communicating. They had learned each other’s words for yes and no and a handful of others. Fortunately, most common gestures seemed to be the same since there wasn’t much time or scope for language lessons down here; the only sort of words they could teach each other readily were rock, water, and ick, which were all self-evident. But gestures and their limited vocabulary had carried them through the incident earlier when Tremaine had had to explain that he needed to turn his back while she and Florian answered the call of nature. If they could manage that with a minimum of embarrassment, they could accomplish anything.
They were near the spot where she and Florian had lost Gerard, and she was impatient to get moving. She didn’t think he would be there waiting for them—at least she hoped not. If he was, it would have to be because he was dead or badly injured. But there would surely be some clue to which direction he had gone.
They had made their way here by following a narrow tunnel that branched off the sulfur stream and on the way Florian had tried to continue their conversation about Tremaine’s father. “Wasn’t it hard for you to be that different?” Florian had asked her thoughtfully.
Tremaine was starting to regret those confidences. She still wasn’t quite sure how Florian had taken it. Not that she had had many options. This isn’t exactly the best place to run off screaming. “Not at first,” she had admitted. “Or I didn’t notice it at first. I think I was proud of it, for a while. That we were different.”
“But it must have been dangerous. Going after powerful criminals, when he was a powerful criminal himself. He couldn’t just go to the Magistrates for help when things went wrong.”
“When my mother was killed, I started to realize it wasn’t a game. And it wasn’t something I could ever really get away from.” Tremaine hadn’t mentioned her stint in the asylum. Honesty was all well and good, but she was willing to take it only so far. Maybe that was when Nicholas had realized it too. That he couldn’t retire, not as himself. If he had ever really wanted to. She had envied him his ability to put on a new persona with the ease of putting on a different set of clothes and just walking away into the night. Free and unencumbered by physical or emotional ties. She couldn’t imagine giving that up. Except he always came back.
Below, the last of the Gardier disappeared down the tunnel that curved away into darkness; she nudged Ilias with her elbow. He nudged her back, harassed, but eased to his feet, keeping a watchful eye on the opening the patrol had disappeared through. Tremaine crawled out after him, her bones creaking, and Florian unfolded herself with a smothered groan.
Ilias made them wait on the ledge until the last hollow echoes of footsteps and quiet voices faded. Then they got the torch lit again and he leapt down into the passage. Tremaine and Florian followed more awkwardly and they hastened into the cross tunnel.
After only a short distance it opened abruptly into a larger chamber and Ilias motioned urgently for them to hang back. As she and Florian trailed behind him, the torchlight revealed two other tunnel openings in this side and one bigger one directly in front of them.
“This looks familiar,” Florian said softly, lifting the torch higher to look around.
“How can you tell?” Tremaine demanded. Everything looked the same to her. She had realized earlier that must be one of the reasons Ilias stopped to scratch signs on the stones every so often.
A puzzled-sounding remark from Ilias sent them hurrying to catch up with him. He had gone a short distance down the larger passage and was sitting on his heels to poke cautiously at something on the ground. The torchlight danced as Florian leaned down to see. “That’s our lamp!” She grabbed the handle and lifted it. The glass was smashed and the slide bent and twisted, as if something large had stepped on it.
“You’re right, this is the place.” This was the spot where the hunter-creatures had attacked them. Encouraged, Tremaine moved forward, fumbling along the wall in the dark. She passed the remains of the two creatures Gerard’s spell had killed, just heaps of stripped bones and dark blotches in the sandy dirt. “That other tunnel has to be right here.” Her hand plunged into empty space just as Florian caught up to her with the torch. They found themselves looking down the tunnel that led off from the main passage, the one Gerard had been thrown into by the force of the sphere. Tremaine hadn’t got much more than a glimpse of it before. It was wider, the ground sloping up and mostly dry, and it seemed to curve just before the limit of the torchlight. There was no sign of Gerard.
That’s a relief, Tremaine thought. Despite everything, she had been half expecting to find his body. She bit her lip thoughtfully, looking around. The torch revealed no bloodstains on the rocky ground. “Even if those things caught him and ate him, there’d be something left,” she said, trying to look on the bright side.
Florian took a sharp breath, wincing as if she didn’t quite appreciate the image. “You’re right, that’s a good sign. Maybe we could—” She stopped, startled as Ilias caught her wrist and steadied the torch. “I think he wants me to hold it still.”
Tremaine shouldered the satchel, watching as Ilias moved around, examining the ground. She followed him, trying to see what he was looking at. “There’s a lot of scuff marks here,” she reported to Florian, leaning to see around him.
Tremaine stepped back as Ilias turned suddenly and bumped into her. Muttering under his breath, he took her arm and steered her over to the wall. Tremaine took the hint and backed up out of his way.
He turned back to his examination of the ground, crouching to inspect an area of disturbed dirt more closely. “Does it look like Gerard escaped?” Florian started to step forward. “Sorry,” she added, as he waved her back in exasperation.
After another moment of intense study, Ilias bounced back to his feet and started down the tunnel.
The passage wound back and forth, its upward slope becoming steadily more pronounced. Tremaine couldn’t see any sign of Gerard but Ilias seemed confident. As Tremaine scrambled up a sloping turn, Florian halted suddenly in front of her, one hand on the wall. “What?” Tremaine asked impatiently. From Ilias’s attitude she thought they were close and she wanted to keep moving.
“Somebody did an illusion here.” Florian drew her hand back, studying her fingers intently in the torchlight. Tremaine leaned in to look but all she could see was the sickly moisture from the wall. �
�It’s etheric residue, I can feel it. I wouldn’t have found it unless I put my hand on it.”
“If Gerard was using an illusion to keep those things off him, or maybe avoid the Gardier, would it leave those traces?” Tremaine was starting to get a picture of what must have happened. Forced to retreat down this passage, unable to use a more violent offensive spell because of the close presence of the Gardier, Gerard would have tried an illusion to keep them off his trail.
Florian nodded grimly. “They must have been right behind him.”
Ilias retraced his steps with an impatient exclamation, wondering what the delay was, and they hurried to catch up.
Around the next upward bend in the passage he halted, hands planted on his hips, surveying the terrain ahead thoughtfully. As Tremaine drew even with him, she saw a wide crevasse cutting through the tunnel. It was bridged by one of the long stone logs with both ends wedged into the rocks on either side. Florian moved forward, holding the torch out. “Looks like somebody put that there to—Yow!”
Florian retreated hastily and Tremaine stepped around her to look. All she could see was a dark gap, just like the others they had stepped across or leapt. Cold air flowed up from it, a relief after the warm dampness in the close passages. Then Ilias took the torch away from Florian and held it up.
“Damn!” It was Tremaine’s turn to start back. The shaft plunged deep into the caves below. Somewhere far down minute crystal outcrops caught the light and cast it back.
“This is the part where we toss a rock and we never hear it hit bottom,” Florian said, giving Tremaine a tense glance.
She wiped her sweaty hands on her jacket. “Let’s skip that part.”
As she and Florian watched, Ilias stepped up onto the rocks that anchored the log. He eased one foot out onto it, then another, testing it cautiously with his weight. “Oh, don’t fall,” Florian breathed.
Evidently satisfied it was stable, he crossed it matter-of-factly, arms out for balance. On the far side he wedged the torch into a gap between the stones. Turning back, he smiled encouragingly and made coaxing motions indicating they should follow.
Tremaine and Florian exchanged a look. Florian did not appear happy. Tremaine took a deep breath. “Want me to go first?” It’s all in the head, she told herself. You’d cross a ditch on a log that wide without thinking twice.
“No, I’d rather get it over with.” Florian sounded gloomy but resigned, as if they were planning to jump headfirst instead of cross over.
Tremaine tossed the supply satchel across to Ilias, then stood by as Florian stepped up onto the rocks, ready to steady her if she had to.
“Here goes.” Florian eased out onto the log bridge, her brows knitted in concentration. Tremaine bit her tongue to keep from uttering useless injunctions to be careful; if anybody knew to be careful right now, it was Florian. Time seemed to stretch but it was really only a moment before Ilias was able to lean out, catch her arm and guide her the rest of the way across.
Florian took a deep breath in relief as she stepped onto solid ground. “Right.” Tremaine took a careful step onto the log and felt her stomach do a nervous internal dance. She took another, thought so far so good, then made the mistake of looking down.
The sight caught her like a moth in a candle flame. The way the shadows fell from the torch turned the planes and angles of the cliff wall into some sort of abstract sculpture, the depth vanishing into the jumble of disconnected images. The crystal fragments caught in the stone glittered like stars. It was intoxicating. Just one step and . . .
She came back to reality abruptly as Ilias caught her around the waist. The log creaked at the extra weight but he leapt back swiftly, yanking her with him.
In a heartbeat they were on the far side, on the stable rock, and she had her head buried in his chest. She clung to him for a moment, needing the warm solid anchor, no matter what he smelled like. That . . . was close, she thought. She hadn’t meant to do it. She hadn’t wanted to do it. They hadn’t found Gerard yet and she couldn’t leave Florian in the lurch like that. The fact that she almost hadn’t been able to stop herself was more frightening than the thought of the fall.
An anxious Florian patted her back. “Tremaine, are you all right?”
Ilias tipped her chin up so he could see her face, asking a soft worried question. Tremaine pulled away, shaking her head. “No, I’m fine. Just got dizzy there for a second.” She added lamely, “ha ha.”
“You did get hit in the head,” Florian pointed out, slinging the satchel over her shoulder and taking Tremaine’s arm. “Maybe that’s it.”
“It still hurts,” Tremaine admitted truthfully enough. She forced a smile. But Ilias was still studying her, his blue eyes troubled and knowing; somehow she didn’t think he was fooled.
Only a short distance ahead the passage turned sharply. Tremaine, still preoccupied, bumped into Florian before she realized the other girl had halted abruptly. She looked up, stared and whistled softly in appreciation.
They had found the underground city again.
The flicker of their torch caught dark columns, formed of bundled masses of those long stones so like tree trunks. A double row of them led away into a limitless dark space that must be a large cavern; the pillars seemed to stretch up and up. Between them was a walkway of cracked and broken paving stones.
Past the torchlight the darkness seemed less oppressive and Tremaine realized light was filtering down through cracks and crevices above, giving glimpses of more shapes too regular to be natural. Ilias stepped back, taking the torch away from Florian and grinding it out against the damp stone. They all stood still a moment as their eyes adjusted.
Most of it was lost in shadow, but Tremaine could see buildings: a pyramidal one with galleries spiraling around the cracked slanted sides, square ones with pillars, like peristyle halls, some with collapsed bridges to connect them. All were built of the same dark stones, tumbled atop each other or sunk into the ground or half collapsed. It looked like an avalanche she had seen once, where a section of pine forest had plunged down a mountain in a shower of rocks and dust, leaving the denuded logs jammed at the bottom of the slope. Water trickled down from above, and moss and the purplish gray plants clung to cracks everywhere, thorny brush and vines draping the windows and doorways. Tremaine found herself twitching as she caught glimpses of imagined movement in the corners of her eyes. This half-light was almost as bad as pitch-dark.
Ilias started cautiously forward, handing the dead torch back to Florian, who tucked it into the outside pocket of the satchel. The still oppressive air was just as warm and damp as the tunnels, but there was something chilling about it, something that made the skin prickle on Tremaine’s scalp. The odor that hung over this place was certainly worse. It smelled foul, like an exposed garbage midden. She started to say, “This is—”
Ilias glanced back at her urgently and held two fingers in front of his mouth, cautioning her to silence.
“Sorry,” Tremaine whispered. She wasn’t sure what she had been about to say anyway.
Between the broken paving stones the ground squished unpleasantly underfoot. It was covered with a thick carpet of dead leaves from the ugly little plants mixed with mud, and they had to step over chunks of wood, purplish, sickly palm fronds and other debris. There were little streams running between the toppled structures and small pools choked with leaves everywhere. Ilias was studying the ground, the set of his shoulders conveying tension. It’s not just Gerard, Tremaine thought, concerned. He knew Gerard was their friend; but the sorcerer’s track must have been crossed by something else.
Suddenly Ilias motioned them to wait. He moved between the columns to a building that lay at a crazy angle, its dark stone roof sloping up sharply. He scrambled agilely to the top. Squinting in the dimness, Tremaine saw his shoulders hunch as he flattened himself against it.
“He saw something,” Florian murmured under her breath.
Ilias hesitated, then, looking down, pointed at Tremaine
and motioned for her to come up.
The round stones the roof was composed of had grooves between them and she was able to wedge her feet in, concentrating on not losing her grip on the slippery stone. When she was close enough to reach up to him he grabbed her arm and pulled her up, catching her around the waist and tucking her securely against his side. Tremaine grabbed his shoulder to steady herself, mud-coated spikes of hair brushing her cheek. Damn, he’s solid. It was a far cry from the languid artists she had known in Vienne cafe society. For a moment she found it hard to concentrate on the task at hand. But he was looking intently at something ahead in the darkness.
With her free hand Tremaine pushed away his hair and followed his gaze. After a moment her eyes caught movement against the lighter stone of the cave wall. Then she felt the skin on the back of her neck creep in earnest.
Ahead there was a kind of raised plaza formed by big stone blocks. Past it was a wide cleft in the collapsed buildings, then a ledge on the edge of a crevice, just visible under a heavy overhang of tangled vines. There was something standing on it.
Tremaine squinted, making out a large creature with a mottled brown hide. It turned its round head and she saw a wide mouth gleaming with fangs. Its body was long and thin and obviously female, with a small waist and pendulous, shriveled breasts. As she watched, it straightened up from its crouch and lifted large, webbed reptilian wings. Oh, that’s new, Tremaine thought nervously. With one flap the creature leapt to the ground, sinking down among the broken walls.
