by T. A. White
The little gap in the ceiling beckoned. She reached it, grabbing a wood stump and climbing on top. Just as she reached for the hole, the cover slammed closed, sealing her below with the ballyhoo.
“What? Wait!” she said as loud as she dared.
She pounded on the wood, trying to push it out of the way. The ballyhoo let out another cry, sounding much closer than it had before.
The tight feeling in her stomach that had been present since she’d slipped out of her chamber in the Keep grew.
It was only because of her considerable experience, and the knowledge that losing her head was the quickest way to a dirt nap, that allowed her to push that feeling down.
She looked up, before pressing experimentally, gritting her teeth as she strained. The wood lifted less than a quarter of an inch before settling back into place.
“Once more,” she told herself.
She strained, putting her everything into moving that cover. Again, it shifted. Just as she felt a spark of hope, the stump under her wobbled. She lost her balance, landing hard on her back.
She stared up at the ceiling, no gap or ray of moonlight coming through.
She was sealed in. Her escape blocked.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Shea scrambled to her feet. She couldn’t stay here. If she didn’t move, she’d be trapped. Forced to face the ballyhoo with no way to escape.
She tucked in against the wall. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark and she was grateful she hadn’t taken the time to relight the candle after seeing the ballyhoo. If it had been lit, the candle would have acted like a beacon, drawing whatever this thing was, right to her.
She listened, hearing nothing but the wind through the passage. There must be gaps to the outside for her to hear wind. An interesting fact that was unimportant given the situation she now found herself in.
Shea backed away from her exit, careful not to brush against anything or send pebbles skittering.
There were only two ways out that she knew of. The first—the hole that someone had so helpfully covered—trapping her down here with that thing.
That left the second—the entrance below the cliffs where she’d led Eamon and the rest. Unfortunately, the ballyhoo stood between it and her.
Her back touched stone as that growling cackle came again. She drew her sword, holding it in front of her.
Did she stay here and hope it didn’t find her, somehow overlooking her in the dark, or did she try to make it to where the hole in the floor was and disappear down it before the ballyhoo sucked out her soul?
She took several steps away from the wall. Her chances were better on the move. She’d never been particularly good at waiting for death to come knocking. If it wanted her, it could damn well hunt her down.
Decision made, she dropped her pack.
She took off, running back the way she’d come, praying the entire time that the ballyhoo wasn’t around the next corner.
Her haste almost killed her. Her foot landed wrong, sending her pitching forward. She barely saved herself from sliding headfirst through the hole in the floor, her sword arm hanging over its edge. Shea held herself still, afraid to move the wrong way and fall or make any more noise than she already had.
She listened, hoping she hadn’t called its attention to herself.
Her hopes were in vain.
There was a scream, the sound of a predator who knew its prey was trying to wiggle free. There was a clatter as it rushed down the hall.
The ethereal glow that reminded Shea of moonlight preceded the beast around the corner.
Shea was caught for a moment by its glow, something so unexpected down here in the dark that she stopped and stared. A skeletal limb grasped the wall.
It was all Shea glimpsed before she rolled over the edge of the hole, hanging onto the side for one stomach-churning moment before dropping to the floor below. She landed and collapsed onto her side, hoping to protect her knees and ankles. Last thing she needed was to break anything.
She didn’t pause to take in her surroundings, turning and stumbling blindly in the dark, fear coating the back of her throat.
Another mythological, this time one who’d breached the pathfinders’ inner sanctum. How?
She’d have to survive if she wanted to find out.
According to story, the ballyhoo was an incorporeal creature who used the hypnotic aspect of its glow to draw its prey in. Known for haunting dead and abandoned places like old cities or the great battlefields of the previous age, it consumed all light from a person’s world.
All of that was great information, but it gave her no clue how to defeat it. A blade might work, but if it was really incorporeal she wasn’t sure her sword would even touch it.
There was another haunting scream above her as it discovered her absence. It was only a matter of time before it figured out where she had gone.
Whatever her course of action, she needed to figure it out quick.
Her boots sloshed through water as she staggered deeper into the bowels of the Keep. She had no idea how she was going to work her way back, but for now she needed to focus on survival.
There was a faint thump from behind her as the creature came through the same hole she’d taken advantage of. Her reaching hands bumped into a ledge, the water now midthigh. The rain must have caused runoff down here. That, or an underground river ran through the belly of the Keep.
She hoisted herself up out of the water and onto rock, nearly slipping twice before she made it all the way up.
The softening of the dark announced the creature’s presence behind her. She fought back a whimper as it rounded the corner.
Something out of a nightmare, the mythological looked almost human. It walked upright, clad in what looked like a threadbare robe, a ghostly mist oozing off it in waves.
That wasn’t the scariest thing about it however. No, it was the two black holes where its eyes should be, over a slash of a mouth, the bones of its skull bare, no flesh covering it.
Seeing her, it rushed forward, floating over the ground.
It reached the water and recoiled, a wail of frustration leaving it as it drifted back, its face turning as if it could see the liquid at its feet, despite having no eyes.
It paced along the edge, the unearthly sound it made assaulting Shea’s ears.
The one good thing about the ballyhoo was its presence helped illuminate the area around them.
She saw the hints of the majestic hall it must once have been—a raised ceiling above, arched doorways leading off the sides, and collapsed columns broken and lying in pieces on the ground.
Some of those doors were blocked by collapsed earth behind them. Through it all ran a little stream. That was what Shea had crossed and the ledge she perched on wasn’t really a ledge. It was a wall that had collapsed, a mural if the faded colors she could just barely see were anything to judge by.
The ballyhoo and Shea both noticed an option for crossing at the same time. A column, cracked and lying half in the water, provided a straight path from the ballyhoo’s side to Shea’s.
A cackle issued from the creature and it began drifting toward it.
Shea felt a surge of anger. She wouldn’t let it be that easy for the beast. If he wanted her head, he’d have to work for it.
Racing over to the head of the column that pinned her debris in place, she put her shoulder against it and tried to shove it into the water.
The ballyhoo found a heavy slab of stone and began dragging it to the column.
Seconds ticked by before the column just barely shifted. Shea pushed harder. She just needed to move it a little to the left or right to find safety.
The ballyhoo placed the slab on the column and floor on his side and tested it. The slab tilted but held steady.
“No,” Shea said. She’d promised Fallon.
She screamed, a defiant outpouring of sound as she strained, using every ounce of the training Trenton and Br
aden had beat into her body to shift the marble those precious centimeters, pushing it off the side of her ledge.
The column splashed into the water, upsetting the ballyhoo’s balance. It lunged, grabbing her wrist, its touch a brand against her skin that threatened to send her mind screaming into the abyss. The ballyhoo lost its balance, its grip loosening enough she could tear free from it.
She collapsed backward, tasting blood in her mouth as the ballyhoo’s shrieks scoured Shea’s ears.
It thrashed in the water, its cries turning to pain as it began dissolving, the water sizzling and popping as pieces of its cloak unraveled. Shea didn’t understand how or why the water hurt it, but she was grateful.
The ballyhoo dragged itself along the column, its form shrinking every moment it touched the liquid. Finally, it heaved itself out and rushed back the way it came, its glow considerably faded.
Shea collapsed onto her butt, her arms sore and aching. She lifted her wrist. Based upon the blistered feel of it, she didn’t want to see what kind of damage the ballyhoo had dealt her in that very short time.
Lethargy invaded her limbs, the brand burning white hot. She twisted onto her side and struggled to her feet. She needed to get moving before it returned. She’d hurt it, but it still lived. She couldn’t stay here.
In a haze, Shea made her way back to where her bolt-hole cover had been slammed shut. She could have tried for the chasm entrance, but instinct told her the ballyhoo would have headed in that direction. Also, this was closer.
She stood on the stump again and pushed, straining ineffectually at the covering. It didn’t budge.
She punched it and screamed, her exhaustion and frustration pouring from her.
Abruptly, it lifted clear, startling Shea and causing her to lose her balance. She looked up from her seat on the floor.
Fallon’s face appeared in the hole above, his mouth drawn into a grim line and his gaze wild.
“Fallon,” Shea said with relief.
“Hey, lover. You were taking too long. Thought I’d come and lend you a hand,” he said, his intelligent eyes taking in the state of her, bedraggled and wet, splotches of blood on her arms, pants and hands from her fall, and exhaustion on her face.
“If you insist,” Shea told him.
His mouth creased in a smile and then his head disappeared. His legs slid through the opening, and he dropped down into the tunnel with Shea. She held her arms out so he could grasp them and pull her easily to her feet.
“I had it handled, you know,” she told him.
“It looks like it too,” he responded.
Trenton’s concerned face appeared above them. “Hey, troublemaker, I hear you could use a hand.”
Fallon grasped her around the waist and lifted her up to Trenton, who grabbed her arms and pulled her up.
“I was handling things just fine,” she told Trenton, though her voice lacked conviction.
He gave her a sideways glance.
She conceded his point. “I mostly had things under control.”
He snickered and moved her away as Fallon swung up, climbing out of the passageway with little effort. Only then did Shea notice the bodies being guarded by Wilhelm and Caden.
The rain had lightened during the time she’d been playing with the ballyhoo, though the yard had turned into a muddy mess and all of the men were wet.
“Did you bring friends?” Shea asked, giving Fallon a hard stare. The effect was ruined by the water still coursing down her face.
“Thought they were yours,” he said with a charming smile.
“Oh?”
“Yes, we found them standing next to your trapdoor. They’d put a wine barrel over it.” His smile was almost feral as he aimed it at the men who were sitting or lying, beaten and battered, on the ground. “When questioned, they decided to get physical. We accommodated their needs, like good guests should.”
Shea blinked at the sight of Reece standing there with his arms folded, alternately glaring at the men on the ground, the Trateri guarding them, and then Shea.
“And Reece is here, why?” she asked.
Fallon stepped up beside her, his presence a warm comfort at her side. “Ah, he’s the reason we’re here actually.”
Shea raised her eyebrows at him in silent question.
“He raised hell a little while ago. Demanded to see you and then when he discovered you gone and for how long insisted we come find you. He’s the reason we found the trapdoor.” Fallon’s voice held a note of grudging respect.
Shea owed her cousin a thank you. She was pretty sure things would have gotten even more difficult had someone not been there to open that door when they did.
“You’re not going to get away with attacking us,” one of the men said around a fat lip. He glared at the Trateri. “Our people are going to have your heads for this.”
Shea smiled at him, taking a step closer and crouching right outside striking distance. “Who was your friend below?”
He sneered at her, even as his eyes turned wary. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Sure, he didn’t.
“I’m interested to know why these asses decided to seal you down there,” Caden said in a conversational voice, prodding the man who’d spoken in the back.
“I confess I’m interested in that myself,” a woman said from the shadow of the stables.
Shea straightened as her mother stepped into the moonlight, several shadowy figures at her back.
“And while you’re at it, you can tell me what you were doing down there as well, daughter.” Lainey’s piercing gaze fell on Shea. Something flickered in it as she took in Shea’s state.
Shea’s mouth firmed as she slid an uneasy glance to Fallon. He shook his head at her. He hadn’t heard her mother’s approach either.
“Guildmaster, these barbarians attacked us,” one of the beaten men said.
Lainey held up a firm hand. “We’ll get to you later.”
Shea met her mother’s expectant gaze and kept her mouth closed as she tried to find an excuse. None came to mind. “Did you know there’s a ballyhoo below the Keep?”
Lainey’s head tilted as she considered Shea’s words. Unease poured off some of her companions, the news having the same effect on them as it had on Shea.
“No, but that still doesn’t explain what you were doing down there in the first place,” Lainey said.
Shea fixed her mother with an impatient look and stuck her hands on her hips. Exhaustion pulled at her, her eyes feeling heavy and gritty.
Something of what she was feeling must have shown on her face because her mother’s face relaxed, her shoulders loosening. “But perhaps we can have that explanation somewhere warm and dry.”
That was fine with Shea. What she had to say would be better in private anyway.
“Nephew, if you and your new friends would escort these men to the cells?” Lainey said, not taking her eyes off Shea and Fallon. “You two may follow me.”
It was not a request. Lainey turned and strode off before they could argue, fully expecting them to follow.
Shea and Fallon shared another look. His face showed the faintest trace of aggravation at being ordered around like he was one of his warriors. She shrugged at him. What could they do? This was the pathfinders’ home and in these walls her mother was judge, jury and executioner. She didn’t know if arguing over an opportunity Fallon would have arranged himself given half the chance, was worth it.
*
Shea’s mother unlocked a door at the base of the westernmost tower, stepping through with only a single glance behind her. Shea’s father followed, leaving Shea and Fallon standing in the doorway.
This tower had been the home of the pathfinders’ guildmaster for as long as there had been a guild. Facing the Badlands, it was meant to symbolize that the pathfinders always kept one eye on that border. Shea had always thought it was a bit of nonsense. Even on the clearest of days,
there was no way to see the border from this tower. They were hundreds of miles from it. But, tradition said this was where the guildmaster reigned from, so that’s where they stayed.
The door shut behind Shea and Fallon.
The bottom level of the tower was bare of any decoration. In braziers on the wall, oil lamps burned, illuminating the space.
Fallon stopped her before she could head for the stairs, picking up the wrist she’d been favoring and pushing back her sleeve. A mark wrapped around her wrist. Bleached bone white, it was a reminder of where the ballyhoo had grabbed her and stood out in stark relief.
Shea winced when he touched it. The mark throbbed and pulsed.
Pain crossed Fallon’s face as he lifted her arm and placed a kiss on the skin next to the wound.
She touched his jaw. “I survived. That’s all that matters.”
“I want Chirron to look at it as soon as we’re done here,” Fallon said.
She nodded.
Together they turned to the stairs and climbed in silence, not stopping until they’d reached the highest floor where her mother waited. She opened a door and stepped out onto the balcony. Shea followed her without a thought.
Her father closed the door behind her, ensuring the two of them had privacy.
Shea kept her growl silent. As ever, her father was a meddler, fiddling and conspiring until the women in his life did as he wanted.
What was more surprising, was that Fallon had let him get away with this carefully orchestrated attempt at forcing Shea and her mother to spend time alone.
She hesitated, listening carefully. Yup, no signs of a scuffle on the other side, no pounding on the wood that might suggest an angry warlord.
She sighed as she turned to face her mother, who stared out into the night, her hands resting on the stone balustrade.
She assumed Fallon sensed no danger to her, and that was why he made no attempt to barge in. Well, not a physical threat at least. Her mother was perfectly capable of tearing strips off her without ever laying a hand on her.
“It is interesting to me that you would go down there without backup in these trying times,” her mother said, her voice perfectly calm.