It led somewhere else.
Probably somewhere burned, although the smoke smell seemed fainter here. Or perhaps there were Fey above, waiting for him.
Grant me clarity.
He sighed. He'd had a clear thought. Now he had to act on it.
He turned, felt the space between the brick and the stone. Mortar crumbled between his fingers and fell like soft rain onto the stone floor. He crouched closer, hoping the Fey wouldn't hear him, and leaned on the brick as he worked. His work was slow and methodical, his fingertips growing sore.
Maybe people could only enter from the other side. Maybe he was trapped here.
Maybe he would have to go back and face the Fey.
He sighed, closed his eyes, and murmured, "Whatever God wishes."
And he meant it. Whatever God wished. Con had tried. He had tried to warn the King. He had tried to save Sebastian. He had tried to fulfill his Charge.
It was his fault that he had failed, but he would continue to try.
That much he could promise himself.
And God.
The brick at the base stopped about an inch above the floor. Con's heart beat harder. That meant he was right. This was a secret passage. No one would stop brick this close to the floor and not go all the way down. It didn't make sense.
Unless the brick was a door instead of a wall.
He held his breath, and felt along the base of the brick. It was rough against his fingertips, scraping unevenly. The mortar fell in small chunks that surely had to be audible on the other side. In the middle, he felt a small depression.
He pushed it.
With a slight grinding sound, a panel to his left slid open. He let out the air he'd been holding and glanced over his shoulder.
Even if the Fey did hear it, it would take them a while to find him.
He leaned forward.
The panel opened into a room. If people were inside, they would have already heard him. He would be better using the surprise he had just gained than running away.
He stepped inside. He was about to feel for the way to close the panel, then changed his mind. The quicker he was done, the better off he would be.
The room was small and smelled faintly of sweat. A fireplace was to his right, and it was cold. A pallet was spread on the floor, and several wooden chests surrounded it. On the nearby chairs were Fey leathers, and in the room beyond, a small pile of swords.
The Fey were using this place as a barracks.
He caught his lower lip.
There were only the two rooms, and for the moment, they were empty. If he hurried, he would be able to use the place to his own benefit.
The front room had been tossed before the Fey took residence. Fabric and threads still littered the floor. Embroidery hoops were stacked against the wall. A needle and pins had been placed on a small table, out of the way of bare feet.
A woman's place, then. One of the women who had sewn tapestries for the Tabernacle and for the palace.
She was long gone, dead or worse.
He sighed.
He touched one of the leathers. It had been a good idea below to be wearing Fey clothing, but not here. If he walked through town, with his pale skin and short bearing, he would only attract attention.
But he couldn't continue, stinking like he was. The robe was ruined.
He crouched near the chests and pulled one open, hoping to find clothing. He did. Women's clothing. He pulled open the next one, and found men's garments. So she had been a seamstress as well. He had hoped for as much.
He turned, grabbed a pitcher from one of the tables, then took off his sword. He peeled off his robe and kicked it into the secret corridor. He hadn't taken that robe off in weeks. He left on his filigree sword, hoping the chain would hide the jewelry beneath his shirt. It was hard enough to lose the appearance of a Rocaanist. He didn't want to get rid of all trappings of his faith.
He poured water over himself, scrubbing with one of the Fey leathers. Let them punish him. They had murdered his companions. The least he could do was ruin their clothing.
He scrubbed the stench off, and dried off with more leathers. Then he slipped on a linen shirt and trousers, obviously made for gentry. There were no shoes, so he took the extra pair of Fey boots. They were large. He stuffed some of the loose pieces of fabric in the toes.
All the while he worked, he moved quickly and kept an eye on the main door. He had to get out. The last thing he wanted to do was get caught.
Once he was dressed, he grabbed his sword. He made certain that he had the sword he had come in with, not one of the swords lying in the cache. Then he again debated closing the panel. But he didn't need to keep it secret. He had no idea why the woman had. He gave it one last look — apparently the Fey below hadn't heard him — and he headed for the main door.
As he passed through the main room, he took some tak from the side table, and the remaining piece of a loaf of bread. He stuffed it in his shirt.
Then he pulled the door open. The street was empty, and the buildings still stood. Apparently this was one of the parts of Jahn that had not been touched by all the horrible fires on that awful day.
The street was empty, but he wasn't sure it would be for long. He scurried outside, and headed toward the river. He had to cross the bridge.
He had to get to Sebastian's friend's place.
Con stopped for just a moment. He glanced at the palace, which still stood. Sebastian had to be in there, alone and frightened. Con could try to go to him. He had no weapons, though, and even though he no longer looked like an Aud — a fact that bothered him so deeply that he tried not to think about it — he might still be recognized as one. The large boots hurt his feet. He hadn't worn shoes since he had sworn to the Tabernacle, years ago.
He shook his head. It would do no good to get killed in a rescue attempt. Better to gain the help of Sebastian's friend.
Sebastian estimated that it would take Con a day at least to this friend's place. Con hoped the directions were good ones. He also hoped that he would be able to make it without being stopped by the Fey.
Grant me clarity, he prayed again.
With clarity, he could think of reasons to be on the road. With clarity, he could talk his way out of any situation.
And then he remembered what he had forgotten. He put his fingers around the tiny filigree sword.
Thank you for the help so far, he added. Then he took a deep breath and ran for the river.
SIXTY-ONE
Arianna huddled in the darkness. She had never been in a place like this before. It had no real walls, although she had crashed into one; no real floor, although she was standing on something; and no light at all.
It took her a while to remember that she had no body either. Her body was so much a part of her. Its Shifting ability defined who she was. Now she was bereft, alone, without the familiar ability to change with her environment.
She wasn't even sure what her environment was.
Something had happened. Sebastian — who was alive — had shattered again, and when he did so, he sent her clattering backward. He had done it for her. He had been planning it when he had come for the Black King.
If he had shattered before and come back, then he could do so this time.
He was still alive.
Wasn't he?
And then there was the Black King. She shuddered, a feeling so strong that she touched her imaginary arms to see if they had become real. He had been inside her, touching her mind, trying to control her.
But between her Shifting and Sebastian's quick thinking, they had forced the Black King out.
Maybe even killed him.
She shuddered. Was this what the darkness was? The result of killing the Black King? Of Black Blood warring on Black Blood? She had told the Shaman she didn't believe in the ancient superstition. She had said the same thing to her greatgrandfather. But now that she was alone, more alone than she had ever been in her life, she wondered. Had she done this?<
br />
She made herself sit still, take some deep breaths. It felt odd to breathe, since she knew she didn't need to. There was no air in here, at least none that she could feel. No real temperatures either. No hot, no cold. She could shiver if she had to, and she could feel too hot, but it was all controlled by her mind.
Or her self. Perhaps that was more accurate.
She had to think. She had been going through the tunnel — that had been real — and then the force of the explosion had sent her spinning backward. She had gone through herself, past her eyes, her ears, and into this darkness.
Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe this darkness was part of her.
But where was it? And how exactly had she gotten here?
If she could imagine temperature, perhaps she could conjure light.
She frowned, thinking of sunlight, but the darkness didn't change. She tried to turn on an imaginary light, but that didn't work either.
She bit back frustration and made herself think.
Temperature indicated how she felt. Her imaginary body could change with her thoughts. But light exposed the outside world, which could not change with her thoughts.
Light was beyond her.
She sighed.
She had to do something
She closed her eyes. She had to stop believing she had regular limitations. It was like Shifting. Most people's bodies remained the same all their lives. They had two arms, two legs, a head, and a torso. She had had wings and no arms; she had had four legs; she had even had a tail. She could think in ways other than a regular body.
And that's what would help her now.
She would keep her feet here. And then she would stretch her torso, looking with her head until she found light. She would never have to leave this place, but she could go as far as she needed to. She could look for the escape.
No matter how long it took.
She sighed again.
Once she was out, she would deal with the feelings her great-grandfather had left her with. She could still feel him beside her, as if he were still there, even though she knew he was long gone. And Sebastian. Somehow they had found a vulnerable place in her, a place she hadn't even known existed.
Her great-grandfather had used it to control her. If she had been a regular Fey, if she had been an Islander, her greatgrandfather would have controlled her. Arianna would have been stuffed in a corner of her own body, watching as someone else controlled it.
But he hadn't. In the end, she had kept control from him, and Sebastian had forced him out.
Sebastian.
When she got back to herself, she would find him. She hadn't known he was alive. If she had, she never would have left him in the palace.
It must have taken the Black King the past two weeks to reassemble Sebastian. And when he did, he used Sebastian to find Arianna. But Sebastian hadn't allowed it.
Sebastian had saved her.
Again.
Oh, she missed him.
And her father.
And even the Shaman.
When she got out of here, she'd be kinder to them. She hadn't realized how much she needed them until now.
When she got out.
She clenched her imaginary fists. It was time. If she failed to find a way out, she could sit here and think forever.
But now she had to find a way to save herself.
She imagined the darkness as mud, and she planted a foot deep within it. The foot felt stuck. She smiled. That was what she had hoped would happen. Then she pushed forward against the darkness, as if it were water and she were a fish. She swam in it, feeling her leg stretch as her foot remained stuck.
She had no idea how far she could stretch.
All she knew was that she had to try.
She moved in a straight line and then stopped and bounced as if a rope had pulled tight. Her leg stretched no farther. She was still in deep darkness. She felt a surge of panic, and then made herself slow down again.
She had just thought about limits.
What had Solanda told her all those years ago?
The only limits you have are in your mind.
It wasn't entirely true, not in life, anyway. But here it might be. Each time she thought of them, she might be creating new limits.
She didn't want to do that.
But how to unthink them?
She tugged.
Her leg remained taut.
Amazing that it didn't hurt.
Pain flooded through her.
Cursing, she went back in the direction she came. When she reached her foot, she stopped and caressed her leg. The pain slowly eased.
She had done that. She had caused the pain by a single thought, and that thought had stopped her. She had prevented her own escape.
She knew it, and she didn't know how to change it.
Somehow she had to stop the negative thoughts.
Somehow she had to control her own mind.
She had never really done that before.
But she had almost perfect control over her own body. That had been hard to learn, but she had done it.
She would learn this, too.
She freed her foot from the darkness/mud. Then she stuck the other foot in that same place, feeling the sucking power of the darkness against her toes.
This time, she would go as far as she needed to. This leg could stretch forever, if it had to. And the stretch would feel good.
She hoped.
She pushed off the darkness and swam forward.
This time, she wouldn't stop until she found light.
Until she found a way out.
SIXTY-TWO
Adrian kept looking over his shoulder as he trudged the last part of the path. They sky was lightening. Dawn was coming, and not a moment too soon. He wanted this night to be over.
He was trying not to think about what Coulter had told him. Coulter believed he had taught Matthias how to use his powers, powers Adrian hadn't known Matthias possessed.
And now Matthias knew where Gift was.
The trail had disappeared, at least as far as Adrian was concerned. But Coulter kept moving in a surefooted way, as if he knew where to go. Adrian could see nothing ahead, nothing except large red rocks and a faint dusting of snow.
The air had grown colder. They were getting higher. He felt slightly light-headed. Part of that was due to the exhaustion he felt. He hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours, and he'd put in a lot of work since then. He'd also been terribly frightened, first by Coulter and then by Coulter's news.
Matthias, here.
With Coulter's powers, only untrained.
Adrian couldn't quite imagine that. He had been there while Coulter observed the Fey, as Coulter learned how such powers worked. What would it be like to have those powers and not know why?
Was that how Matthias killed Jewel? Maybe it had had nothing to do with holy water, as they had said. Maybe it had more to do with him.
Adrian shuddered. He hoped Gift was ahead. He didn't think that the Fifty-first Rocaan had gotten ahead of him, but now that he knew the extent of the man's powers, he would put nothing past him.
Gift, Leen and Scavenger all had to be warned. The man had killed Fey in the past, and he would do so again. He was probably out to get Leen for hurting him in Jahn. And he certainly hated King Nicholas's half-breed children.
Adrian felt a slight tightness in his stomach. Things were not getting easier. Somehow he had thought once they reached this part of Blue Isle, they would have a bit of time to rest. But it didn't look that way.
If anything, it looked as if things had grown worse.
It took him a moment to realize that Coulter was leading him up a staircase. The rocks had been worn flat over time, but Adrian doubted if they'd been used recently. Landslides had tumbled small rocks and large boulders in their path. In the paleness of the growing dawn, he could at least see where he was going. He was pleased about that.
In the dark, he might have hurt himself.
&
nbsp; Coulter scrambled over the rocks as if they were not there. Adrian had to struggle. His hands were so sore from the day's work that he could barely grip the stones. He thought of calling Coulter for help, but then stopped. As long as he could see Coulter ahead of him, his own comfort didn't matter.
It was better to get protection for Gift, whether Gift wanted it or not.
Adrian had reached the beginning of the snow. It made the rocks even more slippery, but the chill felt good on his face. He had gotten too warm during the fireball siege, and it hadn't left him. Not until he came here.
Coulter reached the top of the rock pile and stopped on a flat stone. It almost looked as if he had frozen there, as if he had seen something that prevented him from going on.
Adrian's mouth went dry.
He scrambled over the last few rocks, ignoring the slippery feeling beneath his feet, ignoring the pain in his hands. Coulter turned as Adrian clambered over the last rock and gripped Adrian's wrist, pulling him onto a ledge.
The ledge was made of several flat stones laid out together. It was man-made, as the staircase had been.
"What's wrong?" Adrian asked.
Coulter pointed.
Adrian followed the direction of Coulter's finger.
Ahead, he saw a cave opening, as rounded as other cave openings. But this one seemed man-made too. He could see the sharper edges, unblunted with time.
Someone had made the effort to carve this opening into the mountain's face.
But that wasn't what had caught Coulter's attention.
It was the swords.
They were carved out of rock. Two of them were embedded in the ledge, points down. The other two were sticking out of the sides of the cave's mouth, their hilts facing Adrian. They were huge. They appeared to be giants' swords, left in the dirt, waiting to be used.
But he recognized the designs on them. The carvings that he had seen ever since his childhood.
These weren't weapons.
These were Rocaanist swords.
Coulter pointed higher.
The Resistance: The Fourth Book of the Fey (Fey Series) Page 37
