But there was no "through this." Every time she had told herself that in the past, the crisis had been small. She had made it through, and then life had returned to normal.
Now normal was gone. The Black King had taken her home, and he had burned the town she grew up in, and his people had killed the only brother she had ever known.
Her father put his hand on the back of her skull. He was warm and smelled of old wool. She rested her head on his shoulder. It felt strong and able to withstand anything. That's how he had felt to her from the moment she was born.
Able to do anything.
She took a deep breath. "Daddy," she said. "This Gift, I don't think it's right to find him."
"I know, baby, you said so before." Her father's voice rumbled against her hair.
"But you're not listening to me. Please. Listen to me."
Her father sighed. "All right," he said.
"I saw him. He's smart."
"How smart, Ari?"
"Smart as me," she said. "Maybe smarter. And he was raised by "them.""
"The Fey," her father said, his tone flat.
"Yes."
"Why do you fear them?" he asked. "They're your mother's people."
"They burned down my town."
"Not the Fey who raised your brother. They lived on Blue Isle in peace."
"In hiding," she said. "The Shaman called them Failures."
"They're the ones who raised your brother. The Shaman says he's like Sebastian."
"Why do you believe her?"
"Why should I doubt her?"
"Because she never told you that the Fey had this Gift."
Her father sighed again. "She tried," he said.
"But not hard enough."
"It's not up to us to understand the Shaman."
"But we should," Arianna said. "She's the one leading us to this Gift. She's the one who says it's safe. And I think she's lying."
Her father was silent for a moment. Maybe he thought so too. "I don't think she's telling us everything," he said. "I don't know if that's lying."
"Why do you trust her more than me, Daddy?"
"I don't," he said.
"Then why are we going?"
Her father pushed away from her so that he could see her face. His had grown thinner. It had more lines than it had before. Her father had grown older in the last week, and he looked tired. More tired than she had ever seen him.
"I loved your mother," he said. "Did I ever tell you that?"
Arianna shook her head. In the distance, she saw the Shaman. Waiting. Out of earshot.
"We made you out of that love. We made Gift. I remember him."
"How? Sebastian was there."
"Not for three days. For three days he was a different child."
She didn't like to hear this. She didn't want to know her father longed for his other child. "He wasn't a person. He was a baby."
Her father smiled. "He was a person. Just like you were. Right from the start."
"I'm sure the Fey changed him," she said.
"It doesn't matter," her father said. "He's in as much danger as you are. Maybe more, because all his friends are dead. We're all he has, Ari."
"You're all he has," she said.
"We are," her father said. "He's your brother too."
"Sebastian was my brother."
"And so is Gift."
A tear ran down her cheek. She swiped at it angrily. He brushed another one off her face.
"You're my girl," he said. "My baby. Nothing will change that."
Her lower lip trembled. He pulled her closer. She let him hold her as if she were a little girl, not caring what the Shaman thought. His warmth was refreshing. It kept her torso comfortable while the rock chilled her legs and buttocks.
He would always be her father. She knew that.
She wasn't being fair.
"Aren't you worried?" she asked.
"I'm very worried, Ari, but I don't think we have a choice."
"He could turn us in. He could send the Black King after us."
"No, Ari," her father said. "Gift may have been raised Fey, but he was raised by the Shaman's people. And they're all dead."
"So?" Arianna asked.
Her father's arm tightened around her. "You know how we feel without Sebastian, without our home. The Black King did the same thing to Gift. He has no home any more. Everyone he knows is dead. He's alone out there, and probably more confused than we are."
"He won't replace Sebastian," Arianna said.
Her father leaned his head on top of hers. "I don't want anyone to replace Sebastian," he said quietly. "I'll love and miss that boy until the day I die."
"Then I don't know why you need this Gift, Daddy," Arianna said. "You have me."
"Yes, I do." Her father's voice was soft. "And if the world were different, you and I would continue on the path we planned a few short weeks ago. You would have been the mind behind Sebastian. We would have let Gift go his own way. But we can't now. We can't let the Black King get to him. Gift is as powerful as you. Blue Isle needs both of you on our side. Not you against him. Imagine what a disaster that would be, Ari."
"I could beat him," she said, not sure if she believed it. She remembered seeing him that day, as he stood beside Sebastian. His face had been the template for Sebastian's, only Gift's had more angles and no cracks. And his eyes were so bright that they were nearly blinding. He had outrun her, had nearly out-thought her, and provided one of the few challenges she had had until the Black King arrived.
"You don't dare, Ari."
"I know," she said. "This Black Blood thing. You really believe that."
"I've seen too much of Fey magick to disbelieve any of it," her father said. "We have to be cautious. If we're not, we could lose everything."
"I thought we already did," Arianna said.
"No, baby," her father said. "We still have each other."
"Do you think we'll lose that?" she asked.
"I lost your mother," he said. "I lost your brother."
Of course he thought it. Of course.
"You'll always have me, Daddy," she said.
His smile didn't reach his eyes. "I know that, honey," he said. But she could tell he didn't believe her.
NINETEEN
The stench was almost unbearable.
Con walked slowly through the pile of rotted and decaying bodies, Sebastian at his side. Sebastian had to set the pace; he couldn't keep up with Con. Sebastian had tripped more than once trying to get past the bodies.
The tunnel had widened, and Con recognized it. They were in the catacombs under the Tabernacle. The bodies sprawled around him wore robes like his. Beige robes, black robes, canvas robes, and velvet robes. Death had spared no one.
The bodies were too far gone for him to recognize faces.
He didn't even try.
He was more concerned with how to breathe. The smell was so strong it turned his stomach, but he didn't want to breathe through his mouth. He didn't want to taste this horror anymore than he already was.
It was as if the odor had seeped into him. It was thick on his tongue, coating his throat, making a path all the way to his stomach. His eyes burned.
Sebastian also noticed the odor, but it didn't seem to be bothering him like it was bothering Con. Sebastian seemed more distressed by the bodies around him, glancing at each as if to see if he knew them.
Con knew them. Con had spent every day with them for the past two years. They had come into the catacombs when the Fey invaded, and they had come for safety.
Instead, something had killed them, and that something didn't look like the Fey.
These bodies were scattered as if they had fallen in an attempt to get to the tunnels that Con and Sebastian had just left. The acrid odor of smoke still filled the air here, and Con wondered if, somehow, the fires that had spread across Jahn had killed the Rocaanists below.
It seemed logical to him in this tight space, smoke instead of air, heat making t
he area tighter than it really was. So many of them were lucky to have made it to the other side of the river.
Funny that the group he had stayed with had not spoken of the carnage they left behind.
Maybe they didn't know.
Maybe they thought the Fey had killed their brethren.
The stone walls here were black, and so was the floor — what little of it Con could see. The light was better here. It filtered through in small patches, as if tiny parts of the ceiling had given way.
He tried not to touch anything as he walked, stepping cautiously to avoid bodies sprawled along the floor, wincing as his feet touched the slimy floor itself. When he got out of here, he wanted to throw away his robe, douse himself in the Cardidas, and clean off the stench.
It had nearly become a part of him.
Sebastian had reached a small turn in the corridor. Three bodies lay across it, blocking his way. He stopped and turned toward Con.
Slowly.
"Should … we … go … back?" Sebastian asked. Con almost thought he heard hope in Sebastian's voice.
"No," Con said. "We're almost to the end of the catacombs. My map of the tunnels doesn't show any other way to go. It looks like the tunnels end at the Tabernacle, but I'm hoping that there'll be a side passage so that we can continue heading south this way. I really don't want to dodge the Fey above ground."
"Me … ei-ther," Sebastian said. He turned back toward the bodies. "But … I … do … not … want … to … go … this … way."
"The faster we go, the sooner we'll get out of here," Con said. And the sooner they got out, the sooner he could breathe.
He finally reached Sebastian's side. The bodies were long and swollen, covered with soot and dust. They were packed into the small space. To go through the opening, Con and Sebastian would either have to move the bodies, or walk on them.
Con didn't like either option. As an Aud, he didn't wear shoes. The idea of walking on bodies was as grotesque to him as touching them with his hands.
Sebastian wasn't agile enough to jump.
Con wasn't sure he wanted to try.
"What … is … be-yond … this … room?" Sebastian asked.
"The last main chamber, if I remember right," Con said. The catacombs had looked different the last time he was here. The last time, the Fey had been outside the Tabernacle, and the catacombs had been empty. They had been full of dust and cobwebs, much like the parts of the tunnels near the palace. Only the catacombs also had the remnants of furniture, from the days of old when the Auds used to live in complete darkness, without light.
"Then … we … can … leave?"
"Or see if we can find another passage," Con said.
"Can't … we … do … that … here?" Sebastian asked.
Con frowned. He really didn't want to walk on those bodies any more than Sebastian did. His memory of the main catacomb cavern was imperfect — he had been in such a hurry that afternoon two weeks before (it seemed like another lifetime ago) that he hadn't stopped to explore any of the side rooms or to really notice anything about the catacombs themselves.
"I don't see any more passages here, do you?" Con asked, hoping that he had missed something.
"No … ," Sebastian said.
"Then I guess we go forward."
"How … ?"
Con closed his eyes for a moment. It would be easier to walk than it would to pull the bodies away, although it would be less respectful to the dead.
His feet were already filthy. His hands were somewhat cleaner.
"We walk," he said.
He opened his eyes, murmured a small request for forgiveness, and braced his hands on either side of the stone doorway. Then he put one foot on the back of a corpse, and felt it sink soggily into the slimy cloth. A shudder ran through him.
He put his other foot on the same cloth, then jumped to the far side of the doorway.
Goo had slithered between his toes. He wiped his feet on the stone, shivering and swallowing, trying to keep his stomach under control.
The corpse he had walked on had footprints in its robe.
Sebastian watched, slate gray eyes glittering. He looked even less alive than usual at that moment, almost as if his body were a statue in which someone had imprisoned a man.
"I … can-not … jump," Sebastian said.
"Then walk," Con said. He wanted Sebastian to hurry, wanted them both to be away from this place.
Sebastian put his hands — carefully — where Con had put his. Then he put his right foot on the footprint Con had left in the robe.
Bones snapped and popped. Sebastian sank to the floor with a cry of terror.
"Keep coming," Con said, knowing that if Sebastian stopped now, he would stop for good.
Sebastian put his left food on the spot where Con had walked. There was more snapping, more cracking as bones shattered beneath Sebastian's weight.
"Come on!" Con barked, making the words into a command.
The lines in Sebastian's face had deepened. He was whimpering. He took another step and nearly lost his balance, pinwheeling — if that's what the slow, round movement could be called — one arm so that he didn't fall.
Con extended a hand. "Here," he said. "Grab on to me."
And Sebastian did, with his free hand, in a grip so crushing that Con thought he might break some bones.
Sebastian took another step, slipping as more bones crunched. Then, when he took his final step, a wet squish made him whimper even harder.
Con finally understood what Sebastian was saying.
Under his breath he was moaning, "Sor-ry … sor-ry … sor-ry."
"They're dead," Con said, hoping he could calm Sebastian. "They can't feel you."
Sebastian finally stepped onto the stone beside Con. His grip remained tight on Con's hand. "Are … you … sure?" he asked.
"Yes," Con said. As sure as he could be. He didn't know what happened to the unblessed souls of unburied bodies.
He wasn't sure he wanted to know.
"Come on," he said, pulling Sebastian forward. "Let's get away from here."
The bodies in the main room were clustered near the doorway they had just come through, and the bottom of the entry on the other side of the room. A pile of bodies had gathered there, as if someone had dropped them from a great height.
The death smell had lessened here, or perhaps Con was growing used to it. The scent of smoke had faded too, and the air was cooler, as if a faint breeze were blowing into this part of the catacombs.
The main passage was wide here. The ceiling was arched and had murals on it. It looked like part of the Tabernacle. Doors opened all along the passageway. Con had looked inside them before and knew what he would find: the remnants of cots and tables from the days when the catacombs had been used as Aud quarters.
Sebastian still clung to him. The pain in Con's hand was immense.
"Sebastian," he said, looking down.
"Oh … ," Sebastian said, and released Con's hand. Instantly it flooded with warmth. A pins and needles feeling he hadn't realized he had grew momentarily unbearable, then ceased.
Con resisted the urge to cradle the hand against his chest.
"How … do … we … get … out?"
"There is only one way," Con said. He pointed at the end of the passageway, where the bodies were piled.
"I … do … not … like … how … it … looks."
"Neither do I," Con said. "But we need to see. Come on."
The floor of the passageway was relatively clear of bodies. Con's skin still crawled from touching that last. He made his way across the cold stone floor, peering in each side room as he passed. He didn't know what he was looking for — maybe even someone alive in all this mess — but he looked anyway. And, midway through the passage, he stopped. Sebastian stopped with him.
In the room to Con's left were crates. Con recognized them. They were food storage crates from the Tabernacle's kitchen. Apples, carrots, and other fruits and vegetables were
stored in them. The faithful always donated to the Tabernacle, and always gave the Tabernacle more than it could use.
Con stepped over a body to enter the room. Sebastian waited outside.
"What … are … they?"
"Food," Con said. And he hoped it wasn't spoiled. He didn't know if the stench could spoil food like that.
"Holy … food?"
"No," Con said. But there were vials of holy water all along the ground. "You'd better stay out, though."
He didn't know if holy water was deadly to a creature like Sebastian, but he didn't want to take the chance.
The crates were covered with the black film that seemed to coat everything. He grabbed the corner of one of the crates, and pulled. Black stuff poofed off it, landing on his skin and in his already overtaxed nose. He sneezed, and wiped his face with his sleeve. It felt as if something had smeared across his skin. He winced, but continued.
Inside the crate were turnips. They were clean, though, and only the ones on the end were covered with the black stuff. The top layer was soft, as if it had been cooked.
His stomach growled. He hadn't realized how hungry he was. "I was right, Sebastian," he said. "It is food."
"Holy … food," Sebastian said. Con recognized the tone. It was Sebastian's stubbornness. He wouldn't eat.
"I don't think so," Con said. He took a turnip from the middle of the pile. There they weren't soft or covered with black stuff. "I've never heard of the magickal properties of food. Except to make a person feel better."
He took a bite of the turnip. He'd always hated the things, and yet this one tasted delicious. Eating the tak and the meager portions in the cavern had never really satisfied him.
He went to the door and handed Sebastian a turnip.
"Try it," he said.
"I … do … not … need … food," Sebastian said.
"But you want something to eat, don't you?"
"Not … this," Sebastian said. "Too . .. dan-ger-ous."
"Come on," Con said, not really wanting to have this argument. "We all need to eat."
"I … do … not." Sebastian dropped the turnip as if it had burned him.
The Resistance: The Fourth Book of the Fey (Fey Series) Page 13
