by Liz Flanagan
Joe wondered if she would come back. Long dark hours followed. He took out his knife and started hacking at the cave wall, taking his frustration out on it.
If Winter didn’t return – and why should she? – he’d have the choice of starving alone down here or crawling the long tunnels to daylight, which might be the same thing in the end.
He kept chipping away at the wall, keeping his hands busy while his thoughts chased themselves in circles.
Why had he said that? He knew she grieved for her dragon. He could see Winter was fragile. But she was also his lifeline.
He peered at the hole he’d gouged out of the cave wall. It was roughly the shape of the huge cavern, the one he’d called the dragonhall underground. That gave him an idea. He added a new line, leading to it, and carved the little curved space where he’d slept that first night.
When he heard footsteps a few hours later, he rolled on his back and basked in the rush of relief.
‘You’re back! Thank you. I thought you might not …’ Joe realised he was babbling again. With an effort, he fell silent. This time, he didn’t ask anything. He smiled but stayed quiet and waited for her to speak.
This worked better. When she took her time, the words almost flowed freely. Maybe she was just out of practice at speaking, Joe thought. He even managed to make her smile.
‘Go on, then,’ Winter said, after a while. ‘Ask me.’
‘Ask you what?’ Joe said.
‘About my dragon. You wanted to ask. So, you get one question today.’
‘What did it feel like, when he first hatched?’ It was like pressing a bruise, but he needed to know. ‘What does it feel like to bond?’
‘Huge but natural. Like catching a wave. Also, my life depended on it. Like breathing,’ Winter answered and then she left.
And the next day, Joe got another question.
‘Did you know, before he climbed out of his egg?’ That one hurt him to ask, and it obviously hurt Winter to answer.
‘Yes,’ she said, taking it slow. Her eyes were huge and glittering. ‘I only cared about Jin’s egg, not the others.’
Unexpectedly, that made Joe feel better. He was never going to have bonded with any of those eggs at the ceremony: he should have guessed. He felt calmer now, remembering it, and from then on he stopped going over and over what he’d done on Hatching Day.
The days slipped past. Joe looked forward to Winter’s arrival, and each time she came, she stayed longer and talked more. As gradual as the change of the seasons, they turned from strangers into friends.
‘Soon you’ll be well,’ Winter said one day, after they’d been giggling over Joe’s imitation of the baker. ‘You can walk up the tunnels and into the city again.’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I won’t go back.’
‘You have a home up there.’
‘Not any more. Can’t I stay here?’ Joe added quietly. ‘There’s room for both of us. There’s room for the whole city.’
‘It’s my home. It’s safe. It’s secret.’ She shook her curtain of black hair so it covered her face.
She hid.
That’s what she did, Joe realised. Hiding had kept her safe these past two years and let her mourn in peace.
‘I know, I know! I won’t change that. I’m not going to tell anyone else, I promise!’ He tried to explain. ‘I can’t go home, not till I’ve changed, till I’ve done something to be proud of.’
She seemed frozen and he didn’t know if she was listening.
He took a deep breath and all his stored-up thoughts came tumbling out now. ‘But I need to start on that. I need to find a new path, something to work at.’ He fumbled around, lifted the lamp and showed her where he’d used his knife to chip away at the wall. ‘I’ve made this – look.’
She peered up through her curtains of hair.
‘This is where I came in, and this is the largest cavern, the one as big as a dragonhall. I don’t know where we are now – but you do, don’t you?’
‘It’s part of a map,’ she said slowly, reaching up and touching it with one finger. ‘I never thought of that. I’ve been sticking to a few main routes, so I didn’t get lost …’ She sat very still in the warm circle of lamplight, shadows trembling and dancing all around her as she thought it through. ‘If we copy this – and other passages – down onto parchment and bring it with us, we could go anywhere!’ Her eyes sparkled now, catching his excitement.
‘Yes! We can explore it all. These tunnels were used once, so there must be something worth finding down here. Something ancient! Maybe there’s buried treasure. I could trade with it or buy passage off the island: make my new start. Who knows what we might find?’
‘All right, we’ll do it.’ Winter shook her hair back, no longer hiding. ‘I’ll get some parchment. We’ll start as soon as you’re strong enough.’
‘Thank you.’ Joe grinned. She trusted him! He felt it like a warm glow in his chest, all his frustration gone. He would focus on recovering his strength, eager to turn the next page in his new story and start exploring the secret kingdom underground.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
One day, a month now after Joe’s fall, Winter produced some wrinkled parchment and a stub of charcoal. ‘We can make a map of the tunnels. But’ – she took a breath – ‘promise me, Joe Thornsen, you will never share this? This is just for us.’
‘I promise,’ he said solemnly.
She drew a rough map to show Joe the tunnels she already knew by heart. ‘Look,’ she said, pointing at the scrawling lines. ‘That is where you fell, and here is the passage back to this cave we are in. Now this one here goes up to the palace. This one, down to the docks.’ She’d been using the main passageways, the wide ones, but there were so many side tunnels she hadn’t been in yet, for fear of getting lost.
‘That one to the docks must be an escape route,’ Joe said, eagerness building. ‘Maybe the old kings of Arcosi used it for sneaking away!’
‘Or smuggling things in?’ she suggested, matching his enthusiasm. ‘We are here.’ She showed him a small marked cave. ‘This is the way I get to market. I haven’t been down there yet’ – she pointed to another area on the parchment – ‘further west.’
‘Let’s start there!’ Joe was impatient to begin. Every day he had more energy, and it felt good to have a new purpose after this strange in-between time of healing and darkness.
They worked together to explore the unknown tunnels. They secured the fishing line from the shipwreck kit he had left in the huge cavern, then reeled it out as they walked deeper and deeper into the rocky heart of the mountain that made up Arcosi, marking the tunnel walls at each turn to show their way back. They found evidence of the old days: fragments of broken pottery, shreds of half-rotten fabric, tantalising clues to the people who’d used these tunnels. Every day they added new lines to their map. Every night, they carved a copy painstakingly into the rocky wall of the largest cavern – Joe’s ‘dragonhall’ – which they used as a base now.
They were a good team: Winter was steady and methodical, while Joe was eager and creative, and his energy carried them on when they were both tired. He was still reliant on her for food, and her knowledge of the main tunnels, but soon he knew them almost as well as she did.
‘Where shall we head tomorrow?’ Winter asked one night as they gnawed on some stale bread rolls.
Joe held up the clam-shell light, carefully so he didn’t spill the oil. He studied the master map carved into the cave wall. The cavern where they stood looked like the heart of the island, and these tunnels were its veins.
‘Let’s go west,’ he suggested. ‘This branch here.’ He pointed, tracing the groove with his fingertips. The burns were all healed up now, though his shoulder still ached where he’d fallen, and he could feel his hair growing back in curly tufts where it had been scorched. ‘I feel like there’s more to find over here. See this tunnel above it? That goes right to the shadow strip.’ He pointed to the ruined neighbourhood in t
he far north-west of the island. ‘So maybe this one has an interesting end too. Do we have enough parchment?’
‘Sure,’ Winter said. ‘I can draw on the back of this.’ She smoothed out the section they’d used the day before.
‘Why do the tunnels only cover the west side of the island, not the east?’ Joe asked, without looking round, fingers tracing the whole network now. He’d discovered that they had secret entrances in many different neighbourhoods, including one near the Yellow House, his old home. His heart lurched as ever at the thought of his parents, but he focused on the lines in the rock, determined to stay strong. It was better for everyone this way.
‘Everyone forgot the tunnels,’ she shrugged. ‘They forgot the reason for them too.’
‘I wonder if they knew about them in my great-grandmother’s day, when the dragons almost died out? They had to abandon the island. Maybe the knowledge of the tunnels went with them too?’ Joe’s great-grandparents Karys Stormrider and Gallus Dorato had fled the violence of mad Duke Rufus, along with the only remaining dragons, Cato and Aelia. Aelia laid four dragon eggs, the ones Iggie and his nest-mates had hatched from more than fifty years later.
‘I did go to school too, you know,’ Winter teased him. ‘If I recall, we never stopped hearing about your brother Isak who set the school up.’
‘I know! Imagine what it’s like being his little brother,’ Joe said dryly, gesturing for her to carry on and trying to ignore the pang he felt at the thought of Isak, who would now believe he was dead.
‘So when the Norlanders came, they didn’t know about the tunnels,’ Winter continued. ‘That knowledge had gone with Karys’s people and the dragons.’
Joe nodded thoughtfully. His father’s people had arrived, fleeing famine and hardship in their homelands. ‘The Norlanders moved in, with no idea what was under their feet,’ he said slowly. ‘And as sea-people, perhaps their focus was on the shores, on the seas, not under the ground. None of us knew, all this time …’
‘Till now,’ Winter said.
‘Till us.’ Joe smiled at her. There must be secrets down here! Something worth finding. He felt it like a little flame inside, keeping him going.
Later that night, while Winter’s breathing turned deep and soft in sleep, Joe lay awake thinking about the lost past. Maybe the tunnels had helped Karys escape the island, back then. He liked the idea of retracing his ancestor’s steps. He might be cut off from his living family, but it comforted him to feel connected to Karys Stormrider, so long ago. She was a survivor, and he would be too.
A horrible voice in his mind taunted him then – what if he was more like mad Rufus, the one who’d ruined everything? He pushed the thought aside, and kept it at bay by testing his knowledge of the tunnels, trying to memorise every twist and turn, till sleep finally arrived.
By the time he woke next morning, Winter had already been out, bringing back two hot pastries from the kind baker who always took pity on her. They ate them and drank deeply from the stream flowing through the underground cavern, filling water flasks to take along on their day’s travels. Joe felt like they were explorers preparing for an expedition: they had map-making tools, a wrapper of dried fruit and the compass from his shipwreck kit. Holding it now, he realised it wasn’t just any sailor’s compass, but the one that had always belonged to his father. He looked down at the circular worn metal case that just fitted in the palm of his hand, watching the needle spin and shiver, seeking north.
Another memory rose up, like a tentacle, pulling him under:
His father had found him playing with his compass one day, years ago. Joe didn’t know what the shiny thing was. He just liked the way the pointer moved. He laughed as he shook it, turning it over and over in his hands.
‘Hey, Joe.’ His father took it gently from him. ‘It’s not a toy.’
‘Why not?’ Joe asked, disappointed.
‘Look, let me show you.’ His father’s eyes twinkled blue like the sea, telling Joe he wasn’t in trouble. ‘This little needle always points north,’ he said. ‘So you line it up like this.’
Joe watched.
‘Over there, where the sun rises?’ Nestan pointed. ‘That’s east – see? – the compass knows it too. That’s south, where the sun is now …’ He pointed again, shading his eyes from the strong sunshine. He showed Joe all the cardinal points in turn. ‘So this little compass is your friend. It won’t let you get lost, even when you can’t see the sun.’
But I did get lost, Joe thought, swallowing a lump at the back of his throat. He missed his parents so much, it hurt. It was a physical pain in his chest, making it hard to breathe. All his life, his father had taught him patiently, given him everything he needed. Even now, with this shipwreck kit, Nestan was still providing all the tools he needed. And how had Joe repaid him?
He’d repay him by staying hidden, he reminded himself. He’d stay hidden until he’d tamed his anger, till he was sure he was nothing like his ancestor Rufus, till he’d done something to earn back his parents’ broken trust.
‘Joe?’ Winter’s voice broke into his thoughts. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yeah,’ he muttered. ‘Just remembering. You know?’
She did seem to know. She understood these tidal waves of loss that could sweep in and leave you gasping. She put one hand on his arm and squeezed gently. ‘Come on, let’s go,’ she said, leading the way with her lamp.
The tunnels seemed very long and very narrow today, with the slender thread of knotted fishing lines trailing after them into the dark. Joe paused, and tried not to think about the huge expanse of rock and earth above them, which suddenly seemed to be pressing down and taking his air.
‘Tell me something,’ he said, when he could breathe and speak normally again. ‘Where did you grow up? What was it like?’ He wanted to hear her memories, so he didn’t drown in his own.
‘Lower town, Seawall Street,’ Winter called over her shoulder as she spooled out the line. ‘It was fine, for a while. Good neighbours. Us kids all played together. Dad was a carpenter. Mum’s a craftswoman. Leatherwork. She made this – look.’ Winter showed him her soft leather satchel. She told him next how her father got sick when she was small, and died soon after. ‘Don’t remember him much. Mum did her best for me, and she was so proud when Jin chose me.’ She talked on and on, more than Joe had ever heard.
He stayed quiet, listening as they went up and up through the unexplored tunnels. He felt like she was giving him something very rare and very valuable, word by word, a thread for him to follow, like this fishing line.
It was the longest he’d walked since his fall. Joe’s legs started shuddering from the climb. Soon he was freezing cold and drenched in sweat. His head ached badly and his right shoulder was throbbing. ‘Can we stop?’ he panted finally.
‘What’s wrong?’ Winter peered down at him from the next step, raising her lantern so its golden circle of light fell full on his face.
He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, teeth chattering. ‘I don’t know.’
‘There’s a cave up ahead.’ She looked worried. ‘Maybe we can rest there awhile.’
He started to trudge forwards again, following her. The tunnel widened, and there was a small circular chamber opening off it.
‘Joe, look!’ Winter sounded awestruck.
He peered in. There was a raised oval platform in the centre of the cave – like a table, but carved from the rock of the cave itself.
He went in: one step, two. Something was different in here. The air was charged. It felt warmer.
As soon as he entered, he felt better and his headache eased.
They put their lanterns on the floor and their light cast strange shadows that flickered on the walls as they approached the table.
‘Joe, you were right,’ Winter said. ‘They did leave something down here.’ She moved to the side, so he could see.
He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
The table had two large
boxes on it.
CHAPTER TWELVE
There were two chests of carved wood side by side. Joe ran his fingers over the beautiful textures. The first chest had patterns of waves, fish and dragon heads, all woven together in a complex design. It was fastened with a dull brass clasp.
‘Let’s see what’s inside?’ He reached out and it flipped open with a satisfying click. With both hands, he eased up the carved lid. It yawned open on its hinges to reveal a pile of coins, glittering darkly.
Here was the hidden treasure he’d dreamed of!
Joe laughed out loud and thrust his hands deep into the pile of coins. ‘Gold! Winter, I think it’s gold!’ Here were riches enough to pave any new path he might dream of! Futures opened up in his mind, shimmering with possibility.
Winter blurted in astonishment. ‘B-b-but that’s a fortune!’
Joe picked up one of the coins. The face carved on one side was not one he’d seen before. He made out the name Forlano in old-fashioned runic lettering. It must be one of the old kings of Arcosi, but he’d never heard this name. It must be ancient!
‘Let’s just take a couple of coins for now,’ he checked. ‘Enough to live on? We can come back for more.’
She nodded.
He took three gold coins from the top of the pile and slipped them into his pocket where they clinked against each other as he moved.
Winter did the same.
Joe looked at the other box, feeling pulled towards it, like his compass needle seeking north. ‘Shall we?’ he whispered.
‘Yes!’ Winter said, eyes wide.
Joe moved crabwise and stood in front of the second box. He put his hands on it, feeling the softness of the polished wood. The other clasp was thicker and more ornate. The polished carvings on the box were different too: moon, sun, crashing waves and something that looked like flames. He took a deep breath, then slowly undid the catch and eased the lid open.
At first he could see only darkness within.