The tunnel curved, and Lakeo stopped abruptly, flailing her arms.
“Stoat’s teats,” she growled and caught herself on the wall.
Yanko couldn’t come up beside her, not without jumping over what had become a two-foot-wide river of lava, but he leaned out to look, and his mouth sagged open.
“Now what?” she asked, pressing her back against the wall, so he could see better.
He had already seen enough. Their stream of lava had met with the outflow of several other streams, and a huge steaming pool of molten rock stretched across the confluence zone ahead of them. Heat blasted his face, and the gas they had been breathing had grown stronger, a mix of unpleasant chemicals that stung his nostrils and made his eyes tear. The pool stretched from wall to wall, leaving no way around, not unless one had a boat that could withstand however many hundreds of degrees in temperature lava was. Maybe thousands. Yanko wiped his face. He had no idea, and he wasn’t about to stick his finger in to check.
“About twenty meters.” Lakeo stood on her tiptoes and pointed to the far side of the cavern where a wide tunnel continued onward. “Want me to boost you up so you can take a look?”
“I’m perfectly capable of seeing our predicament from down here at my lowly height.”
It’s about to get worse, came the smug and angry voice of the warrior mage. My specialty is fire, you know.
“Maybe we could go back to one of those side tunnels,” Lakeo said. “Find another way around.”
Before Yanko could share the message, an ominous rumble reverberated from the depths of the mountain. Of the volcano, he reminded himself. The warrior mage wouldn’t cause it to erupt, surely. That couldn’t be within his power. Even if it was, the Nurian ambassador would not allow it. If the volcano blew, everyone on the island would be in danger, Nurians as well as Kyattese. But if Sun Dragon was feeling angry and vengeful, maybe he had not asked for permission.
“That does not sound good.” Lakeo thrust an arm back the way they had come. “Look, the lava flow is getting denser. Faster. Bigger.” She gripped Yanko’s arm. “We’re about to have our flesh burned off our bones if you don’t do something.”
He kept himself from squeaking out an unmanly and uninspiring, “Me?” Instead, he examined the ceiling above the pool—the magma glowed intensely orange, throwing out enough illumination to highlight every crack and crevice up there. How far into the mountain were they? Had they traveled far enough down to be back below the tree line?
“Can you levitate us across?” Lakeo pressed her back against the wall and pulled Yanko over, as well. The two-foot-wide stream had grown to four feet, leaving them only a foot of solid rock to stand upon.
“I never mastered levitation. Telekinesis is covered in the mind sciences book I’m reading, but, uh, I haven’t practiced.”
“Maybe you should prioritize that.” Lakeo had not let go of his arm, and her nails dug in like the parrot’s claws.
“I’ll do so in the future. I can try to push us across with some wind, but the precision needed to land in that tunnel over there...” He could not imagine it being anything other than an act of last resort. He doubted there was enough air in the tunnels behind them to gather the force to hurl them twenty meters, aim notwithstanding.
“Push?”
“Maybe...” Yanko closed his eyes, reaching up through the rock above them with his mind, hoping to find plant life. “Ah, they’re up there.”
“What is?”
“Trees?”
“Trees. That sounds even less helpful than pushing.” She growled, her eyes huge as she stared at the rising flow of lava melting the ground as it passed inches from their toes.
Yanko tried to ignore the scorching air, the nauseating gases, the sizzle of molten ore melting the rock beneath it. He focused above the ceiling, beyond the rock and to the soil over it, soil that provided a bed for trees, shrubs, and grass. A vast network of roots ran above their tunnel—and above that lake of lava. Some had already broken through the volcanic rock, creating cracks and fissures, poking through over the years as they extended downward. He identified the trees, since they would have the strongest roots, and sought those closest to their position. A forest of koa had claimed the earth up there. He nodded to himself, took a deep breath, and funneled his energy into the root systems.
“Yanko, whatever you’re doing, it needs to be done soon,” Lakeo said. “Or we’re going to have to try to run across. Maybe it’s not that deep.” A thunk sounded as she threw a rock.
Eyes closed, Yanko barely noticed. He willed the roots to grow deeper, to stretch their toes for some fresh oxygen. Granted, this air wasn’t all that appealing, but it was all he could offer.
A crack sounded, and shards of rock tumbled into the molten lake. The first root appeared, dangling down several inches from the otherwise smooth ceiling. More cracks came from farther out.
“You’re going to bring down the ceiling so we can climb out?” Lakeo asked. “Good, hurry, Yanko. Damn, I don’t know if I’ll be able to reach...”
Yanko shook his head, but didn’t respond. There wasn’t much time, and he could not risk a lapse in concentration. He could bring down the ceiling, but the lava would splatter everywhere, and with a stream of magma running across the path they had come down, there wasn’t room to run back up their tunnel. Besides, he didn’t have Dak there to run volume equations and make sure the earth and rock above wouldn’t completely fill in the lake and trap them. Instead, he kept pushing through the ceiling with clumps of roots.
It took tremendous energy, to make trees grow as much in a minute as they would in a year, and he had to lean against the wall for support. His thigh muscles trembled, threatening to give out. They weren’t getting enough oxygen. The air was scorching, and his lungs protested the gaseous miasma entering them.
Pain burst from the side of his foot, shattering his concentration. He gasped, yanking his leg away from the flow that had brushed his boot, eating through the leather in an instant.
“Yanko,” Lakeo said, already plastered against the wall and standing on her tiptoes to avoid the ever-widening lava stream, “are you going to—”
“There.” Grimacing as he shook his leg, unable to put out the fire in his foot, Yanko thrust his hand toward the first clump of roots dangling from the ceiling above them. “That’s our path out. Jump up, grab one, and swing over to the next.”
“Are you insane?” Lakeo stared at the route he had made, handholds dangling down at one- and two-foot intervals and running across the pool to the opposite tunnel, one that hadn’t yet started to fill. It was their only way out, and if they didn’t make it over there soon, it would be covered in lava, too—the level of the lake had risen noticeably in the few minutes they had been standing there. “I can’t hold myself up and swing along like a monkey,” she said.
“But... you have to.” Yanko stared at her. He had known it would be a difficult task, but it hadn’t occurred to him that she might not be able to manage it. “Leave the books. They weigh too much.”
“Oh, no. I didn’t spend the night crawling through caves with them only to lose them now.” She gritted her teeth and turned toward the first root, but she had to flail to find her balance on the narrow strip of hard rock left under their feet. She nearly pitched into the flow.
Yanko stretched out his hand, steadying her. He worried that he was asking too much from her, that she wouldn’t be able to do it. Maybe he could try blowing her across the pool with a great gust of wind, the way he had assisted himself in the obstacle course back in Red Sky. But it was so far, and she didn’t have any forward momentum.
“I hate you, Yanko,” Lakeo announced, then jumped up, catching the first clump of roots. Her pack, bow, and quiver jostled on her back, dragging down at her, but she held on with both hands and managed to support her weight. Small shards of rock rained down, striking her shoulders, then bouncing into the lava where they melted instantly.
Yanko watched the roots t
ensely. He did not think they would give way, but he held his breath, regardless, afraid they would break with her over the stream of lava.
At first, she merely hung there, both hands wrapped around the roots. Finally, she growled and lunged for the next clump. Yanko had to move his boots again as a thick flow surged down the tunnel. Another thirty seconds, and the floor would disappear altogether.
As soon as Lakeo swung to the next clump of roots, freeing up the first, he crouched on the balls of his feet, ready to spring. His leg muscles quivered, drained from the poor air and the energy he had fed to the trees. Maybe Lakeo was not the one he needed to worry about.
With more lava coming every second, he could not second-guess himself. There wasn’t time to try anything else.
He jumped and caught the first clump of roots. Lakeo had moved on to the fourth, her feet dangling a half a foot above the lake of lava. Yanko followed after her, his shoulders protesting the weight of his pack and weapons. Lakeo’s must be on fire with all that gear on her back.
Smoke roiled off the magma, and as Yanko looked down into the swirling molten rock, he became certain that Lakeo’s thought to run through had been suicidal. Even if it wasn’t that deep, their legs would be burned to ash before they had taken two steps. And if they fell now, there would be no hope of surviving.
He looked up, focusing only on the root clumps ahead of him. Looking down only scared him. It was bad enough that sweat dripped into his eyes and slicked his hands. He reached for a root, only to have his grip slip with a lurch that nearly made his heart leap out of his chest. After that, he wiped his hand dry on his robe every time before reaching for a new perch.
Lakeo progressed slowly and carefully, pausing to brace herself, or perhaps gather her strength, before reaching for each new handhold. Yanko’s shoulders ached, and his forearms burned. He would have preferred to take his chances swinging quickly from root to root, but he couldn’t get around her. Besides, he needed to make sure she made it. If she slipped, he might be able to do something. Of course, if his arms gave out and he slipped... there would not be anyone to help him.
Another rumble came from the depths of the earth.
“Now what?” Lakeo groaned.
“Nothing. Keep going, please.” Yanko glanced back up the tunnel, hoping he wasn’t lying.
“I’m going, I’m going. This is killing my arms.”
“I know.” Yanko bit down on his tongue to keep from telling her that going faster would get them to the other side more quickly, where their arms could have a nice break. He did not wish to goad her into making a fatal mistake.
Still, the lake level had crept up another two inches. Any second, it would seep over the edge of the tunnel they were angling for. If they didn’t make it before that happened, they wouldn’t have a safe landing spot. Or any landing spot at all.
The light level increased, and the already awful heat grew more intense. A great surge of lava flowed down the tunnel they had left, filling it over halfway. It would plunge into the lake, which was sure to rise and fill the other tunnel.
“I lied, Lakeo. Hurry.” His forearms needed a rest badly. They were shaking, and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold up his bodyweight. He wished he had thought to abandon his own heavy book—maybe his entire pack.
“I am.” She reached for a new root, one farther away than most of them had been. “Quit—” She brushed it with her fingers, but didn’t manage to grasp it. All of her body weight swung downward, and the root she was hanging onto with her back hand lurched, a few of the strands breaking. She slid lower, the whites of her eyes showing as she struggled to keep from falling all the way off.
Yanko was afraid that if he swung over and tried to catch her, he would only bump her loose. Or worse, the roots he hung from would break if they had to support two people.
“Yanko!” Lakeo cried, her grip slipping another inch. She tried to reach up with her other arm, but she was carrying too much weight, or her muscles were too weary. She missed the grip, and her remaining arm trembled so greatly, he knew she could not hold herself up any longer.
With all the energy he could summon, Yanko gathered the air in all of the tunnels around them, channeling it into a wall of wind. Terrified it wouldn’t be enough or that he wouldn’t have the accuracy he needed, he hurled it at her at the same time as her hand slipped free.
Instead of plunging down into the lava, she was swept sideways. Her hair brushed the remaining roots as she was hurled toward that one tunnel that was not yet full of lava. She flew into it so hard that she landed more than ten feet in, striking the ground in an uncoordinated tumble that sent her rolling.
With his own arm shaking so badly it was rattling his teeth, Yanko lunged for the next root. He had used so much of his energy in that blast, that his fingers barely managed the strength needed to wrap around the handhold. Moving as quickly as he dared, he swung from root to root, his entire body trembling from the effort. Reaching the far side of the lake, he was about to drop down into the tunnel when the lava oozed over the edge, smothering his landing spot. Already in the air, he tried to replicate what he had done for Lakeo, funneling wind to give himself a push. There wasn’t enough time, and he barely felt the breeze. He landed in an inch of molten lava. Heat seared the bottoms of his feet, but he leaped farther into the tunnel as soon as he touched down. He reached the solid ground, ran five steps to where Lakeo was standing up, then reached down, clawing at his laces. Even though he had left the lava, it had burned through the bottoms of his boots and painted his soles with pain. He ripped off his footwear, not caring if he had to run the next ten miles barefoot.
“Yanko, go, go,” Lakeo cried as she took off running. “There’s more coming.”
“I know,” he yelled and raced after her.
They sprinted down the passage, hardly caring that it grew dark as they outran the lava’s influence. Yanko worried that the dimness would not last. That overflowing lake had nowhere to go but down this tunnel. And once it all started pouring in behind them, it wouldn’t be slow... It would swallow everything in its path on its way to wherever this blasted tunnel came out.
“How far to the end?” Lakeo yelled. She kept glancing back to check on him—or maybe to check on whether a wall of lava was chasing them.
“I have no idea.” Yanko barely had the energy to run. Even if he’d had the reserves to call upon his sixth sense, he would have been too frazzled to use it. His feet hurt—his whole body hurt—but all he could think of was running, of finding the end before the lava found them.
“It’s coming,” Lakeo cried after another glance back.
As if he couldn’t feel the heat rushing down the tube ahead of it... and see the rounded walls gradually growing brighter as it closed on them. “I know,” was all he said, his legs churning.
The rough rock, already warm from the approaching lava, battered the bottoms of his burned feet, but he kept running. His lungs begged for a reprieve, for air that didn’t stink of gas—and his own death—but he kept sucking it in. Despite his weary legs, he caught up with Lakeo. Her face was so red, it looked like her head could explode. He matched her pace and risked another glance backward. The lava raced after them, filling the tunnel, making the walls fiery orange, and then melting them.
“Hafta... do... Yanko.” Lakeo shook her head once, clearly unable to get anything more coherent out.
He didn’t know what he could do except keep running. He didn’t have any power left for anything except moving his legs, and he could barely do that. But it was an island, wasn’t it? There had to be an end to the tunnel somewhere. Unless they were spiraling down into the depths of the earth, only to run into another lake of lava, one they couldn’t escape this time.
That last image flooded his mind with such hopelessness, such certainty that he was going to die, that he almost missed the whisper of fresh air against his cheek.
“Air!” Lakeo blurted.
The tunnel curved, and a hole ca
me into view, a hole showing a dark sky beyond it. Hope surged through Yanko’s weary body, giving him the power to make it, the power to beat—
His toe smacked into a rock so hard that he flew forward, his backpack nearly thrown over his head as he soared through the air—until he hit the ground, landing like a boulder. His sword hilt rammed him in the ribs so hard an inadvertent cry escaped his lips. Lakeo stopped, ran back, and grabbed his arm.
Terrified the lava would overcome him, he needed no urging to scramble back to his feet. Ignoring the fresh scratches and bruises, he waved for her to keep going. He had an eye full of an orange, smoking wall before he spun back toward the exit and sprinted the last fifty meters.
He wasn’t trying to call upon the mental sciences, but some instinct warned him of danger a split second before he burst out of the exit. “Cliff!” he blurted, grabbing Lakeo by the pack.
She had already found out, reaching the edge and lurching backward, trying to keep herself from falling out. Only his hand on her pack kept her from tumbling down into the ocean below, an ocean littered with rocks and being battered by an angry surf.
“To the side,” he ordered, though he had no idea if there was anywhere to hang on.
With the lava scant feet behind them, Lakeo lunged right, and Yanko went left, patting at the wall with shaking hands. He found an impossibly tiny ledge, gripped it with the tips of his fingers, then yanked his legs out an instant before steaming lava surged from the tunnel, brightening the night with its searing orange glow. It poured forth, like molten ore from a blacksmith’s ladle, spattering onto the rocks below and splashing into the water, hurling steam into the air.
For a few seconds, he couldn’t find anyplace to put his feet, and he hung from his trembling fingers, certain he would fall, dropping to the rocks below. Then his knee banged against a protruding nub. He swung his leg up, landing his foot on the spot. His remaining leg dangled free, but at least he could get some of the weight off his hands and pause for a moment to breathe. They weren’t out of danger yet, but the taste and smell of the fresh ocean air almost made him euphoric as he sucked it in.
Beginnings: Five Heroic Fantasy Adventure Novels Page 135
