“Lord keeps this way clear,” Mai-Long said, when he asked. “My father told me: this is the first part of the city to be repaired.”
Rats always have an escape route.
Cobwebs, hanging from the roof, brushed against his face and the air smelt dry and musty. The horses, initially reluctant to enter the darkened narrow passages, seemed content to follow their riders, so they continued on for a time without speaking, each lost in their own thoughts. This narrow passageway seemed a place caught out of time and place; part of the city but completely separate. N’tombe turned and caught his eye but said nothing.
Finally they reached a narrow ramp that led downwards, under the earth and into a low tunnel. Here, the air felt damp and the horses tossed their heads, whinnying reluctantly. N’tombe put her hands over their eyes and sung to them, until each one calmed.
Seeing Will’s amazement, she smiled. “Dana taught me this.”
The tunnel was pitch-black, so they felt their way with their fingers pressed against the walls. Will counted his steps: One hundred, two hundred, five hundred. Finally, the ground sloped upwards and a dim light could be seen, and now the horses stepped out gladly. As they drew closer to the opening, the air began to freshen.
“We must have gone under the walls,” he whispered. In the darkness he felt, rather than saw, Mai-Long’s nod.
They emerged into a copse of birch trees. The slim white trunks seemed naked in the winter light.
“Here we are.” N’tombe stretched.
The horses began grazing. Will threaded his way among the trees, searching for the sun. The spongy ground was covered in low, bright green moss. A bird chirped in the distance. Reaching the edge of the trees, he stared out across the plain. They had come near to a quarter-mile from the city; there, in the distance, he saw the high walls that marked its edges. In the far distance lay a line of snow-topped mountains. The sun was low; the secret path to the city’s edge must have taken the best part of a day.
They still had far to go – the citadel was massive, and they would have to travel overland to reach the place of execution.
Execution. Such a horrible word!
Suddenly his energy deserted him, and he fell to his knees, sobbing. He dug his fingers into the soil. It was too much; all too much. He knelt alone for a time as the sun crept lower in the sky, and his shadow lengthened. Finally, he climbed to his feet, and stood, just listening to the world and to the beating of his heart. Taking a deep breath, Will wiped his face. Enough! She was still alive; there was still time. Time to be up and doing. Not waiting like a coward.
Chapter Eighteen
Waking
I woke in crushing darkness. Where am I?
The air smelt curiously stale, as if, long ago, something had died and never been properly disposed of. The heavy dryness of it stung my throat, and made me cough. Something about the echoes, the feeling of wood beneath my fingers was like being smothered.
My shoulders touched walls of wood, and when I lifted my head I hit more wood. I was in a box. Not a box. A coffin. A wave of panic hit, so hard that for a moment I couldn’t breathe. I’ve been buried alive!
Shouting, I pounded on the wood. I punched so hard my skin tore; blood oozed from my knuckles. “Let me out!” I thought I was going to faint; I’ve never felt such terror.
My bladder spasmed and warm urine trickled down my legs.
“Please,” I sobbed. “Please!”
But there was nothing. No echo, no movement; no sign than anyone was listening. Just the stuffiness, the heat, the knowledge that I was alone and forgotten. I was an insect, pinned in a collector’s box.
“Help! Help!”
I screamed so loud that my head ached; I shouted until my voice grew hoarse; until there was no more air in my lungs. I threw myself about, kicking, punching at the walls. They were unyielding. I was trapped, and there was no escape.
Thoughts fragmented …
I stood, ankle deep in mud. Fire in the sky was in the water and turned the swamp blood red. Beside me, swamp grass swished in the sudden wind. People ran, screaming, and in the rush a child tripped, falling face first in the mire. Her arms flailed as she gasped for air.
She’s suffocating!
I levered her free, tugging her from the sludge. Her face was covered in black marsh-mud. “Go!”
Without a word she turned and ran away from me, away from the fire.
Foam fluttered on the marsh-surface. Glancing at my reflection I saw my eyes were full of flames.
I sprinted along a narrow tunnel, my feet splashing through cold puddles. Above, a city was burned, but here everything was quiet. My heart pounded in my ears as I ran.
One breath after another. That’s all it takes to go on living.
Rebecca, my daughter, pushed past me, dashing into the darkness, but I, carrying the heavy globe of glass, did not have strength to follow.
“Wait!” I cried. “Rebecca, wait!”
Abruptly, the world turned black. I was alone.
Cold air against my face. I smelt water and rock and heard the plink-plink of water drops falling. I felt curiously at peace, and somewhat cold.
Had I died, and been buried? Strangely, this thought did not bother me; instead, listening to softly falling water, I felt only calm acceptance. But gradually the darkness eased, and I could see again. I lay in a cavern, beside a deep still pool.
A torch flared, orange-bright, and its flame stung my eyes. A rough, deep voice spoke. “You should not be here.”
I was about to reply when I heard a footstep behind me, and realized it was not me the man was speaking to.
“What are you doing?” The torch carrier stepped forward and now I recognized him: it was the ferryman! What was he doing here?
“I was called,” said the person behind me. Echoes murmured; the surface of the still pond rippled. His voice was familiar.
Alden! Why was my brother in my dream?
“And you, my Lords. Come forth. I hear your breathing,” said the ferryman.
Shame-faced, Owein and my father appeared.
“What are you doing?” Alden asked.
“I could ask that of you.” Owein gestured at the ferryman. “Why is he here?”
Alden bit his lip. “I thought I heard someone calling.”
Far away my body lay bound. Soon, I would die, and this dream would pass. I seemed invisible to them, and they were dead to me. Or they soon would be. I had failed. Nothing mattered.
The ferryman beckoned to them. “Come. I want to show you something.” He stepped into the pond. “Come.”
Hesitantly, my father followed. “Too cold for me,” said Alden, and backed away. Owein, holding the torch high, said nothing, but the ferryman and my father continued wading, until thigh deep. Feeling like a ghost, I drifted across the pond toward them. The ferryman’s eyes moved, almost as though he could see me, but he said nothing, pointing into the water instead.
“Look.” His deep voice seemed loud in the cavern’s darkness.
Ripples trembled. My father peered at the water uncertainly. “Is it a rock?”
Beneath the water lay a low dark mass, like a stone. The ripples grew; the stone seemed to move.
“The Guardians need to remember what it is they guard,” said the ferryman.
“Who?” I shouted. “Who do we guard?”
The ferryman’s eyes seemed to flame, orange and red. I remembered the marsh, the fire; the screaming.
Foam on the water, I thought. Foam on the water.
The ripples grew and grew and under the water, the stone seemed to move. Then: “Hush,” said the ferryman. “Hush.”
I woke. It was dark. I lay in a coffin, but I was no longer afraid. I breathed in and out, evenly and quietly. I was not alone. Rinpoche, Rosa; the other Guardians – they were with me.
That, Suzanna’s soft hands stroked my forehead, is what you needed to understand.
You are never alone, Adianna said. You are part of those you
love, and they are part of you.
Tears ran down my cheeks. I couldn’t move to wipe them away, but what did it matter? I sniffed instead.
“One question?” I asked. “The ferryman. What was he talking about?”
The beads were silent.
“Don’t do that!” I said. “Please. Tell me.”
Wynne sighed. Perhaps its best if we show you.
I was back in the cavern. Water dripped softly, but I could hardly hear it over Owein’s and Alden’s furious whispering.
“If you’re so brave,” said Alden, “you go in.”
“Me? Why me? You’re the oldest.”
“Oh, yes. That’s always your reason for avoiding things.”
“But you are the oldest.”
“So? Well?” Alden pushed Owein’s chest. “Come on, brother. Tell me. Why does it matter?”
Owein shoved Alden away.
“It’s because you want to be the King. After Father dies. Isn’t it?” Alden said. “Is this about power, brother mine? Admit it – it’s always been about the power. If I died, right now, dropped dead at your feet – and you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Alden had his face right up to Owein’s, almost spitting at him. “You tell me you’d decline the crown?” He spread his arms wide. “So. How about this? I resign.”
“You can’t resign. You’re a prince. It’s not something we do. It’s something we are.”
“Exactly! We are. You and I. Princes abdicate, don’t they? Happens all the time. So, brother mine, how about it? I’ll abdicate. And you can have the throne when our father dies.”
My brothers were stupid. They were always arguing, and I was sick of them.
“Alden!” Daddy shouted.
Alden, his forehead pressed against Owein’s, ignored him.
My father swore, and began to wade from the pool.
With a growl, Owein threw himself at Alden. Alden swung and missed. Owein barreled into him, gripped him about the waist and pushed him over. Alden threw another punch, caught Owein in the face.
“Aargh!” Owein grunted. Blood dripped from his nose.
The waters of the pool began to churn. Owein flung himself at Alden. Alden, caught off-guard, fell backwards. Owein punched him once in the stomach; Alden curled around himself; Owein kicked him again. It was like watching them when they were boys, but this was much, much worse because now they were adults, with an adult capacity for hatred.
“Enough!” said a sharp voice. Rosa, surrounded by a nimbus of white light, stood beside my wrestling brothers. The ruby over her heart glowed red. She gestured, and my brothers flew apart, landing on the rock, hard. Both groaned.
“Guardian!” gasped Owein.
“I should dowse your spirits in that water,” she said angrily.
My father, growling, stepped from the pond. Water dripped, but strangely. His clothes appeared dry. “You think being a King is something to aspire to? You, Owein – you think it is so wonderful, being in charge?”
Dropping his torch, Owein scrabbled back. With a groan, Alden got to his feet. Reaching down, Rosa picked up the torch. As she gripped it the flame flared high, and her shadow seemed to grow.
“Boy, you are nothing but a FOOL!” my father roared. The sinews in his neck stood out with the force of his shout. Taking a deep breath, he added more quietly, “Being King is nothing like that.”
Water sloshed violently, ripples building into waves. The ferryman, still standing at the center of the pool, shook his head: No, No.
“Why,” Daddy growled, “do you think I went into that water, but you did not?”
My brothers glanced at each other as though confused.
“It is because I have no choice.” My father sounded suddenly weary. “I am the King. I cannot say; oh, this water it is too cold. Oh, but it makes my feet ache! No! I have a responsibility, do you not see? So you should stop this bickering. Now, I have a solution for you both.” He looked over at Rosa. “What think you, Guardian? Can they both be King?”
“What?” said both my brothers, together.
“Why not?” Daddy glanced over his shoulder. “What does the ferryman think, eh? Hello?” He stared at Rosa. “Where did he go?”
The ferryman had disappeared.
“He’s in the water,” Rosa said urgently. “Quickly!”
Daddy dashed into the pond. He waded so fast he nearly fell forward. Waves grew and grew, forming in his wake and sloshed about the pond’s edge. “Boys! I need you!” My brothers glanced at each other then, as one, ran into the pond.
“Hurry!” Rosa called.
The ferryman lay like a sacrifice, his pale arms spread wide. The light from the torch flared high and turned the waves red.
The past and the present merge: foam on the water, fire in the sky. A girl trips and falls. A man, wearing the face of the ferryman, helps her to her feet. “Go!” he says, gently.
“Guardian!” called Owein. “Help! He’s not breathing.”
“Bring him to me,” Rosa called.
They dragged the limp, unmoving body of the ferryman from the water. Ripples threaded the surface.
They laid him at Rosa’s feet. “He’s not dead, is he?” Alden asked.
Rosa pushed hard on the man’s chest. Water flowed from his mouth. She blew into the man’s mouth. The ferryman coughed weakly. “Where am I? Something …” He tugged on my father’s arm.
“Father!” Alden cried. “The pond! Look!”
Ripples broke, forming and reforming on the water’s surface. The pond water was turquoise blue and strangely luminescent.
“Wait!” Alden said sharply.
Quite abruptly, the surface of the pond calmed, reflecting the roof of the cave and the torchlight. My father shifted, seemed about to speak, but all at once the pool heaved like an animal breathing. Water jetted upward, fountaining to the cave roof.
“Something’s inside.” Owein pointed. “Look!”
The noise of the fountain grew loud, and still louder. Alden pointed at the strange black shape inside the pond; writhing, twisting, it almost seemed alive. About it, bubbles frothed. Waves rose, water splashed until the entire cavern appeared like a cauldron about to boil.
“Run!” said Owein sharply
The waves grew and grew. I turned to run, but too late. Water crashed about us, cold as ice. Bubbles surged. The torches spluttered. The waves grabbed my knees, my thighs, my head. I stumbled, and fell. Something brushed across my face, and I screamed. My mouth filled with water, and I could not breathe.
I spiraled down, washing into blue-dark waters. Bubbles rose about me, glistening like stars. As in a dream, my brothers, my father, the ferryman drifted up and away. Only I remained, afloat in this sea of night.
“Stop panicking.” Rosa sounded annoyed. “This is supposed to happen.” The ruby at her neck flared, red as blood and bright as fire.
I stood frozen, trapped inside a glass globe. Outside, the world was being made anew.
* * *
Light flooded in, and I woke.
Chapter Nineteen
A Place Of Sacrifice
They headed north toward the mountains. Will huddled into his cloak, pulled the neck of his jerkin up over his mouth and watched the moon rise. The only sound was the soft clip-clop of the horses and the low hiss of the wind through the winter grass. He felt as though he was trapped in this moment: lonely plains on his left, mountains to his right and the stars circling slowly above.
But time continued, regardless of what he wanted. Sooner or later, the night would end.
The moon inched higher. “How much further?” Will asked.
“Not far,” TeSin replied.
“Does the place have a name?” N’tombe asked.
“Yes.” TeSin looked at Mai-Long, as though to say: you tell them.
“We do not speak the name aloud,” Mai-Long said.
TeSin nodded. “Bad luck.”
Eventually, just as Will was beginning to worry that they would never reach
the site before dawn, they crested a low ridge. Below, a stream, winding from the mountains, spread to form a marsh. Stars lay reflected in the still water and the swamp edges were white with ice, but on its far side stood many men with fiery torches.
“There it is,” TeSin said softly.
It seemed a somewhat unremarkable place, just a marsh under stars and in the distance the city walls. Somehow he’d expected something more significant. Silhouetted by the torchlight stood a platform. Men scurried about it; their voices echoed in the still night air.
“First light on grass,” TeSin said. “Two hour, three maybe?”
Will took a deep breath. So it all came down to the next two hours. “We leave the horses here,” he said quietly. “Circle round the marsh, and approach the platform from the water. We stay quiet; crawl if needed. We must not be seen. Understand?”
Will hoped Mai-Long could move quietly, for if they were discovered there would be no hope for them, or for Dana.
They hobbled their horses to keep them from straying. The animals, untroubled by the loose ropes, began grazing. Will put his hand on the chestnut’s shoulder. If he didn’t return, these animals might not fare well. Best we return then, he thought.
“Do you have the knife?” he asked Mai-Long
She nodded, and patted the satchel across her back.
“Show it to me.”
Slowly, almost reluctantly, she took the blade from the small bag. In the moonlight the finely carved jade seemed creamy-white. Mai-Long’s dark eyes seemed calm, but Will sensed an undercurrent of fear or desperation. Was she planning to betray them? Perhaps he should kill her now and be done with it.
N’tombe touched his shoulder. “She has a part to play,” she murmured.
I hope you’re right.
They set off down the slope. N’tombe whispered in his mind. Do you trust me, Will Baker?
The SoulNecklace Stories Page 65
