by Serena Chase
“That,” he gasped, “was much less fun,” he paused to cough, “the second time.”
He didn’t speak again for a long time, but once his breathing regulated he sat up.
“As I’m sure you’ve surmised, the tunnel is long,” he said and then quirked a smile. “But it’s much longer the second time through. Hopefully no one else should have to come back here.”
“Where does it lead?” Julien asked.
“It dumps into another warm pool, fed by a stream.” His smile widened. “And there is light!”
“Light?” Erielle asked. “From outside the mountain?”
“No.” Kinley shook his head. “Its source seems hidden within the very walls. It’s a strange thing, perhaps akin to our torches.”
“‘Isle stone no hand has mined lights the path to long-sought brine,’” Edru quoted the scrolls. “Tirandite stone? In Mount Shireya?” He shook his head and looked toward Dyfnel, who nodded.
“It must be,” he said. “Won’t the Elder Council be surprised to learn it exists somewhere besides Tirandov Isle!”
Julien met my grin. We both got a bit of a wicked thrill from anything that could befuddle the stodgy majority of the Andoven Elder Council.
“I thought that verse was about our torches,” Erielle said, wrinkling her nose.
“So did we,” Dyfnel said, tugging on the end of his beard. “But we were wrong. I would wager to say that the stream Kinley found will lead to—”
“The living rain,” Erielle interrupted. “‘A pool that teems illuminate precedes living precipitate,’” she quoted.
“The poem’s riddles have surprised us before,” Julien’s said, and his tone darkened, “I only hope that whatever falls on us is something friendly.”
I grimaced. Like Erielle, I had always thought of “living precipitate” in terms of rain, not anything dangerous. Julien’s thought that the words could simply be a metaphor for something that would literally fall on us—something alive—sent creepers back and forth between my shoulders.
Living precipitate. Living precipitate. My mind conjured any number of unpleasant things that could fall from above.
“Water is necessary for life,” Erielle stated with a tone that said she’d made up her mind. “Living precipitate,” she repeated the phrase echoing in my mind, “could simply be water. Condensation, even. You must admit that’s likely, given the warmth of this pool.”
“Indeed,” Dyfnel nodded.
“Well, we might as well get on with it.” Julien stood. “Kinley, I think we all have a good idea where the tunnel is. Why don’t you go last so you have time to breathe a bit longer, eh?”
He nodded.
“Erielle, you go first, followed by Edru and Dyfnel. Rynnaia will go next, then me, and finally, Kinley.”
Erielle threw a cheeky grin in her brother’s direction. “There you go again, barking orders and assuming compliance.” She stood and curtsied. “Ever at your command, Sir Julien.” With that, she winked, took a deep breath, and dove into the pool.
As soon as she breached the tunnel, Edru dove. We followed, one by one. Erielle’s torch was, of course, left in the depths of the pool. It looked so tiny down there that I couldn’t imagine any of us having the breath or strength to retrieve it.
The warm water delighted my aching muscles, but the salt stung my eyes. As the brine soaked through my clothing, I became aware of each tiny cut, each miniscule abrasion on my skin. It prickled with the sharp tingle of warm water running over a bad sunburn.
I swam down, down, until I found the tunnel. I couldn’t pause, but a moment of panic made me want to when I first entered the circular waterway.
It was close. Too close. A chilling tingle chased up my arm when my elbow banged into the side. I adjusted my strokes and kicked my feet harder to make up for the lack of propulsion from my arms.
Ahead, the subtle outline of Dyfnel’s torch within his pack kept me moving forward, but I tried to think about other things, things that brought me comfort.
Lady Whittier playing one of her instruments.
Riding Falcon across the Veetrish countryside.
But each time I allowed myself a brief reminder of where I was, and that I couldn’t see the end of the tunnel, panic roared and threatened to steal my breath.
Swimming in the Bay of Tirandov.
Meeting my mother.
Meeting my father.
Dyfnel’s light disappeared.
Julien.
If I didn’t make it through, neither would he. Neither would Kinley, who had surely dived in again by now. He had to be exhausted, doing this for the third time. His life depended on my speed. I kicked harder.
The tunnel brightened and my last exhale was forced out as the passage suddenly widened. I spread my arms to propel myself farther and . . . it shot me into light.
“Wobfdm!”
Still underwater, the exclamation bubbled forth as my cheek kissed the gravelly bottom of a pool much shallower than that into which I’d dived. A second later, strong arms hauled me to the surface and placed me gently onto dry stone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
I panted and blinked, gulping in air as if it were the finest banquet and I was a starving dog beneath the table. My vision was dotty for a few minutes, but when I finally caught my breath I became cognizant of the welcome warmth of the stone beneath me.
It had a faint glow that was strangely brighter under the water of the stream coming into the chamber. The air was hung with humidity that reminded me of Tirandov. It was bright enough in here to almost dispel the fact that we were deep inside a mountain, far from the light of the sun.
A low grunt announced Julien’s arrival. A few moments later, Kinley arrived, though experience gave his entrance a bit more grace. His nod took in each member of the group, counting to make sure we were all accounted for. A brief flash of sorrow passed over his face, the only mention of Risson’s loss any of us could bear.
“Have you ever seen anything like it?” Erielle whispered as she came to sit by me.
“It reminds me of Tirandov Isle,” I whispered back. “But different.”
“It’s like we’ve entered another realm,” she said. “One out of a dream.”
“Why are we whispering?” I asked. But as my full voice echoed back at me, a verse of the prophecy came to light: a lone voice chorus takes its form. The echo was the result of a lone voice, multiplied by the acoustics of the room. A chorus of one.
Was this another mark?
From then on we spoke in hushed tones, but even our whispers echoed a little bit off the smooth, rounded walls of the long illumined cavern.
The chamber was about half the size of the dining hall at Holiday Palace, and its stone walls glowed with rosy light. The stone itself was a brownish-pink color that had veins of white. Every now and then, a streak of yellow-brown ore crisscrossed in jagged, semi-vertical veins.
The stream I had been dumped into ran barely as deep as my knees and it flowed through the room like a lady’s ribbon, curving its shallow path and doubling back, only to curve again. Beneath the water, the pink floor shadowed darker than the walls above, and every once in a while I thought I saw a little flash of light, but I couldn’t be sure.
The saltwater and humidity helped to clear the dust from our noses and lungs. Breathing was easier here, and the longer I sat on the warm stone, the sleepier I became.
“We should eat,” Kinley whispered as he unwrapped his kindling and tinderbox.
“You mean drink,” Erielle said and made a face as the chamber’s echo taunted her, “Drink, drink.”
I grinned and reached for my pack to add my own kindling to the pile. So far, Erielle had shown remarkable restraint in voicing her dislike of keola. Unlike Erielle, I enjoyed the spicy-sweet drink. Even the thought of it now, after so much activity and strain with no sustenance, set my stomach to rumbling.
As I unwrapped my kindling from its protective waxed oilcloth, a piece of parchment
fluttered out. I secreted it in my hand while I delivered my kindling to the pile.
How long we’d been in the mountain was anyone’s guess, and mine would be the least accurate, having been unconscious, or at least removed from any sense of time, while my mind was in Dwons. But even at that, I was sure that at least one full day had passed since we paused in our journey to rest or eat. Somehow, I had not even thought about it. But now that a meal, even a liquid one, was not only a possibility, but already being prepared, the ache of emptiness in my gut and the weakness of hunger in my limbs made it entirely obvious.
Kinley struck his flint several times before a spark caught. A few strikes later, a tiny, starving flame sprouted. Slowly and silently we each added half of our remaining fresh water into the small pot Edru produced from his pack. When it boiled, he added a measure of the dried keola mixture, wrapped in thinly woven cheesecloth, to steep.
While everyone’s attention was diverted to the fire, I turned my back and opened the parchment.
I cannot pinpoint the day when my love for you became known to me, only that its arrival seemed the natural progression of the sweetest friendship of my life. My heart is, and shall ever be, yours.
Julien’s breath tickled my skin, but without a quick peek into his mind, my injured ear would not have discerned that his breath against it held meaning.
He had whispered, “I love you.”
I leaned toward his ear and returned the sentiment.
The warmth of his love and the creativity of his courtship combined to soothe me, but the damage to my hearing was a cold reminder that I had not yet faced the worst this quest had promised.
“Thank you,” I whispered, unwilling to share my infirmity, or the disquiet it caused my spirit, lest its admittance mar the sweetness of Julien’s latest note.
“It’s almost ready,” Edru called out at a normal volume, forgetting for a moment that his last word would come back to him several times. We all laughed then and that sound, too, rounded the room as if there was a much larger crowd than the seven of us.
My mug was drained too soon, and as much as I enjoyed the taste of keola, the lack of having something to chew left me less than satisfied, even though I was no longer hungry. With full stomachs and drooping eyes, we decided that time spent resting would not be wasted.
I was only too glad to be denied my turn at keeping watch. Bone-deep weariness tugged at my mind, rendering the strength from my body as well. I curled up on the warm stone floor, closed my eyes, and fell instantly asleep.
The dream began instantly, or so it seemed.
The cloying sweetness of yellowhock filled my lungs until they were so thick with it that each breath was but a gasp. I ran through the field, panic sweeping my feet through the flowers. I couldn’t stop, lest my pursuer overtake me. Casting glances over my shoulder only slowed my progress and made the terror grow, for although his face and form were hidden from me, his laughter—that same evil, twisted laughter that had poisoned my dreams since I’d first inhaled the pollen of the yellowhock flowers—chased me without mercy.
I ran and ran, but the field only stretched longer before me. Somewhere beyond the range of my vision, I knew Julien waited, but he was immobilized somehow, and unable to come save me.
“Rynnaia.”
A voice called. A man’s voice. But it wasn’t Julien.
“Rynnaia!” It was my father’s voice.
What was he doing here? I wondered in that barely lucid place that was able to think within a dream. He was supposed to be nearing Salderyn!
I turned my head to look behind me, but I couldn’t see him in the sea of yellowhocks. Suddenly, I tripped and fell, lurching as the ground seemed to drop away, taking my midsection with it.
I gasped and opened my eyes.
Rynnaia.
With a start of guilt I acknowledged my father’s voice—his real voice, heard through our Andoven connection—and the love that was so strong it had overcome the boundary of a nightmare to find me.
As the vision of his face touched my sleepy mind, the tension there spoke his worry without the need for words.
I’m sorry, Father.
Where are you? It’s been days since we last spoke!
Guilt woke me further. I should have contacted him sooner. We are well within Mount Shireya. We only just stopped to rest a while.
I’m glad you are within the mountain. Relief came with his sigh. Our enemy discovered our ruse. Three days ago they made a sudden retreat. Toward you. We have, of course, pursued them. We’re in the northern foothills. We expect to have engaged them by dawn.
How can you get here so fast?
We were already in Stoen. The mountain is much closer to the Stoenian border than it was to the Dynwatre border. We had less distance to cover than you did coming from the south. Are you well?
I hesitated. Yes.
He didn’t say anything for a moment, but his gaze pierced through mine. No . . . he said finally, and his brow furrowed a bit deeper. I think, perhaps, you are not.
A fresh wave of grief crushed my chest. We lost Sir Risson. I quickly explained what happened at Halo’s Rim, including freeing Gladiel and Drinius, but left out the details about my impairment.
My father was quiet for a moment. Risson was a loyal knight and a good friend. I’m sorry you had to bear witness to his death.
I didn’t actually witness it, I said, since I was unconscious at the time.
Unconscious? Rynnaia!
Exhaustion fought against my desire to keep those details from him. I will tell you more of it later, but suffice it to say that unlocking Drinius and Gladiel’s cell was much more difficult than I anticipated.
Are you recovered?
Well enough, I sighed.
I could tell he didn’t like my answer. How many marks have you identified?
The next thing we will likely see is the living precipitate.
Wisps of poetry danced through his mind. Concern colored his words. You will soon face the foe. Alone. I do not like this.
Neither do I, but the suffering caused by the Cobeld curse must not continue to plague our people. What they do with those cursed beards . . .
Without my permission, my memory replayed part of that still-too-fresh experience and I brought my hand to my ear. It still throbbed every now and then, but the pain was much duller now.
Oh, Rynnaia. My father saw the memory and winced as he witnessed a moment of my torture. I reached for gray, but even the thick swirls I found couldn’t hide it completely.
Tell me what happened.
I didn’t have to. The memory was still so fresh, so frightening, that it transferred to him almost instantly—and entirely without my permission. I hadn’t wanted to burden him with the details, but the fog of interrupted sleep limited my control.
A torrent of angry, protective colors flew into my mind as the King fought to gain control of his thoughts. I had no idea the curse could prey on your mind at that distance! I thought there would have to be physical contact. It was a foolish risk that I put in your lap. Forgive me.
No one knew, Father. And you are not responsible. Besides, I survived.
Has Dyfnel examined you?
No.
There could be other injuries, he said after I explained my hearing loss and the pain that still throbbed. Internal injuries that affect more than your ears. Dyfnel should examine you.
I can’t see the point of it. Even if I have other injuries, how could we treat them here? I asked. He couldn’t answer. We don’t have time. And besides, I’m not telling the others about my hearing loss. It will only worry them.
My father paused and then nodded. The look in his eyes, even though I saw it only with my mind, was as comforting as if he’d put an arm about my shoulders. You are weary.
Yes. I inhaled and imagined resting my head in the crook of his arm. He smiled at the image. I am weary beyond anything I’ve known, I admitted.
Rynnaia, I— He broke off for a moment
and the colors he sent next turned that arm around my shoulder into an embrace that forced the breath from my lungs and his abiding affection and care deep within my soul. I love you, Rynnaia.
I love you, too, Father.
Sleep, Rynnaia, he said, even as I drifted there on my own. Sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Whether my father had somehow stayed in my mind to guard my dreams or sheer exhaustion had not allowed them entrance, I didn’t know, but the nightmare did not recur. When I awakened, it was gently. And I held on to the lazy calm as long as I could before opening my eyes.
Julien’s face was what greeted me first. Propped against the rock wall, he sat next to where I lay with his legs drawn up, one elbow cocked on his knee, and his smile made me wish I’d reached wakefulness sooner.
“Good morning, Princess,” he whispered.
I reached over to caress his cheek. “Good morning, Bear-knight,” I said, and then laughed at the memory of the first time I’d done that at the Bear’s Rest in the Great Wood of Mynissbyr.
His smile widened when I relayed the memory. “That seems a long time ago,” he whispered. “I thought perhaps you wouldn’t remember. You were half-asleep when you said it. And disoriented from reading your father’s letter.” He chuckled and the sound echoed around the cavernous chamber. “But I knew, even then, that I would cherish that moment.”
“Even then?”
He nodded. “And I have. Every moment after.”
Oh, yes, I sighed. I love this man.
My back popped as I stretched. In that instant I became aware of each aching joint and strained muscle in my body. I tried to suppress the groan that threatened, but it wasn’t easy. I hurt. Everywhere. Even the roots of my hair seemed to have been pushed beyond the limits of what they’d been designed to endure. Then again, I had traversed the inside of a mountain, gone over a waterfall, almost drowned, and nearly died while my mind was in Dwons. After that, I ran through tunnels at a breakneck pace before swimming through a narrow tunnel that required more breath than my lungs could provide. Yes, I supposed, it was bound to cause a few aches and pains. But what could I really complain about? I was alive, and as far as I knew, I was whole. I was surrounded by people who loved me.
