She tried not to laugh every time she looked at Demitto. Clearly, he was also hating every minute of their journey west. He had stripped off his leather jerkin, rolled it up and strapped it to his backpack. His linen undershirt clung to his upper body with sweat, and he had pulled his long scruffy hair back off his neck and tied it with cord. Deep frown lines cut into his forehead, and she could hear him muttering from several paces away.
Still, in spite of his obvious resentment, he pushed on, and she was pleased that he seemed so determined to rescue the Prince. She had wondered whether he might have told her that, because she had taken the Prince away, he would not help her rescue him and would in fact return to Heartwood to find another sacrifice as she had originally hoped, but he hadn’t. However, he had hardly said two words to her since binding her shoulder, and he was clearly angry with her.
She rolled her shoulder as they walked. She wasn’t quite sure what he had done to her before binding her shoulder. He said he had ‘directed the Arbor’s love’ when she queried him again, and she had seen him push the pendant into the ground. Was it true that energy travelled beneath the earth from the Arbor? Had he truly channelled that energy into her? Her shoulder was sore, but it should have been throbbing a great deal more, and there was no sign of infection, the skin already healing nicely.
She mused on the enigmatic emissary as he stopped to hack at a trailing vine with a dagger. He portrayed himself as a sword-for-hire with less spirituality than a piece of rock, but that didn’t explain the way he had healed her, or the fervour that shone through him at times, lighting him up like a lantern.
He pushed forward through the greenery, Atavus leaping elegantly over a fallen log, and she trailed after them, wondering what Demitto would say if she asked if they could stop for a while. She was thirsty and could do with a bite to eat to keep her strength up, but his rigid spine and stony face discouraged her from asking. She would wait until he had to stop. Surely he would have to stop at some point?
On cue, he came to a halt so suddenly that she bumped into his back. A query hovered on her lips, but before she could voice it, he sank to his haunches and gestured for her to do the same, putting a hand on Atavus to stop him running forward.
Catena moved forward and parted the undergrowth, peering through to the scene in front of them. Two men stood there, in the middle of the jungle, motionless as if carved from the rock that reared behind them. They wore plain brown clothes with various fancy pieces of plate armour engraved with a design Catena had never seen before. It was only when she looked at their eyes that she realised what the design was, because it was reflected in their gaze – dancing flames, the red and orange irises sending a shiver down her spine.
They stood with hands braced on the hilt of their swords, the point resting on the ground. For a moment, she thought they were statues, but then a beautifully coloured butterfly alighted on the pommel of one of the swords. The knight twitched, and the butterfly flew away.
Demitto studied them silently, then withdrew back into the undergrowth, pulling Atavus with him. They walked back silently the way they had come until they were sure they would not be overheard, and then crouched beneath a huge fern, hiding in the shadows.
“Who were they?” Catena whispered.
“I do not know.” Demitto fumbled in his jacket for the pendant. He pulled it out, then hesitated. “I need to speak to Cinereo. Do you promise to remain quiet?”
She nodded, wanting to see what he did, pleased that he wasn’t going to send her away. His eyes met hers briefly. Then he lowered them and plunged the pendant into the ground.
She sat with her back against the trunk, one arm around her knees, one around Atavus’s neck, and watch Demitto concentrate, his eyes closed, his head bent. A lock of his hair that had escaped the tie at the back fell forward, curving around his cheekbone. He was too thin, she thought – he looked as if he could do with some good home cooking and a woman to look after him. Too much time spent on the road missing meals, existing on ale and hunks of dry bread from his saddlebag. What a life he must have had. Part of her envied him, part of her felt sorry for him. Was he lonely? He couldn’t be any lonelier than her, she thought, and she’d spent a lifetime surrounded by people.
She blinked. The air before him was shimmering. For a moment she thought she was imagining it, but then it grew stronger, the air blurring as if she were looking through heavy rain. Atavus growled low in his throat, and she murmured to him and stroked his fur reassuringly.
The shadows around them lengthened, thickened, darkened, and she felt the same sense of something crawling over her skin that she had felt the previous time she’d watched him do this, the rising of hairs all over her body. A shape began to form before them, sinister in the twilight – a figure cloaked and hooded in grey, his lower arms covered by leather bracers, leather straps across his body. She shivered, trying to ignore the fear that rose within her.
Demitto raised his head and opened his eyes. “Cinereo,” he acknowledged.
The man nodded a greeting. “You have reached the mountains?”
“Yes. There are two knights in the jungle, guarding something. I think it might be the entrance to the caves.”
The caves? Catena frowned. She hadn’t seen the entrance to any caves.
“The Prince lies within,” Cinereo confirmed.
Demitto nodded. “You wish me to enter?”
“The Prince must be retrieved at all costs.”
“I understand. But the guards suggest the Incendi have more followers bound to their will. I know neither where they have drafted these from, nor how many they have. We are but two. If–”
“At. All. Costs.” The words dropped from the grey-cloaked figure like stones.
Demitto dropped his head, subservient for once. “I may not be able to contact you within the caves,” he murmured. “The ground will be rock and the pendant will be unusable. Do you have any further instructions?”
“Pyra is attempting to force the Apex to a location and time that gives him the advantage. We must avoid that. Do not fail me.”
“I will do my best.” Demitto hesitated, and Catena had the feeling he was suddenly conscious of admitting a weakness in her presence, but he went ahead anyway. “I am uncertain how to find the Prince once we are inside the caves.”
“Use Catena,” Cinereo instructed. “She is a Saxum.” The figure shimmered. “I must go, I have much to do.”
Abruptly, the figure faded like early morning mist. Atavus rose and went over to sniff where he had been.
Demitto slid the pendant beneath his clothes and glanced across at Catena.
“Well, he was friendly,” she said. The manner in which he had spoken to the emissary had shocked her. Suddenly she understood the pressure Demitto was under, the responsibility that rested on his shoulders. Why was he doing this? What was he getting out of it?
His mouth curved wryly. “He has his reasons.”
“Who is he? How do we know we can trust him?”
His mouth curved more. “Oh, we can trust him. Do not worry about that.”
“Have you met him? In person, I mean?”
He sat back, arms around his knees, fingers linked. “No. But I do know he speaks for the Nox Aves. And I trust them with my life.” He spoke simply, and his eyes were clear. He was telling the truth, she decided.
“So what did he mean, ‘use Catena’? What is a Saxum?”
Now Demitto’s eyes turned thoughtful, his expression interested. “It is a term I have not heard used for a long time. Tell me, your father is a miner, yes?”
“Yes. So?”
“Has he ever spoken to you about his work?”
She gave a laugh that held no humour. “My father rarely speaks to anyone or anything except his tankard. Why would he talk to me about his work?”
“Was his father a miner before him?”
“And his father before him.” Now she was confused. “I do not understand.”
“Ofte
n within families of miners, there runs in the blood a kind of…” he thought about how to describe it, “special ability. The miners themselves are not always aware of it, and it is stronger in some than others. But some people have the talent for listening to stone.”
She stared at him. “Now I know you are jesting. ‘Listening to stone’? Are you telling me I have to have a conversation with the rockface?”
“Maybe,” he said, a sliver of humour in his words. “I do not have the talent so I cannot tell you how it works. It is an innate ability, like how some people can paint the likeness of a person. We cannot explain why one person can sing and another makes us cover our ears. So it is with those of us who connect with the elements.”
She shook her head, still disbelieving.
He frowned. “It is like when I channel the fire as I hold the sunstone. How can I explain it…? Although I do not have an elemental inside me, I can feel the fire in my veins, and I only have to think of it and it bursts through my skin.”
“So what are you saying – that you think I can connect in a similar way with… what? Rock?”
“Saxum traditionally have the ability to sense the harder elements – they can often find the ores, gold and copper and such, within the mountains. They have a skill with gems and crystals – they know where to find them, and how to cut them to avoid flaws. Hanaire people have a high percentage of Saxum, which is why they are so skilled with silver work. And traditionally those from Harlton and the far south have been known to have this connection. Perhaps they have absorbed it into the blood over the years of working in the mines, like breathing dust into the lungs. Who knows? But it seems that Cinereo thinks you have the talent. And maybe that is why…”
She stared at him. “Why…”
He shook his head and pushed himself to his feet. “We should go. It will be dark soon and, with you injured, I would rather we fight these men while we can see them.”
“It will be even darker in the caves,” she said, rising with him. What had he been about to say?
“True, but I will be able to use the sunstone to guide us.” He drew his sword, being careful not to let the steel sing as it came out of the scabbard. “Are you ready?”
She withdrew her own sword, hefting it in her right hand. She could feel the pull of the weight on her shoulder, and she knew she would feel the wound once they started to fight, but she would not let it stop her. “Ready.”
“Then let us do it.” They moved forward until they saw the glimmer of the men’s swords through the leaves.
Demitto met her gaze. Above their heads, the Light Moon climbed high in the sky and his eyes glittered, making her shiver.
“Now,” he said, and they leapt forward with a yell.
III
In the southernmost part of the Embers, the lanterns became further apart, and their journey became a fumbling through black passageways interspersed with patches of weak yellow light.
“I presume everyone is thinking what I am thinking,” Amabil said as she stumbled and almost fell for the third time.
Betune put a hand under her arm and steadied her. “You mean, what are we going to do without Turstan to light our way?”
The thought had played on Sarra’s mind too. Once they left the Embers, the caves would be unlit. So far she had trusted her instincts that they would find a way to guide themselves, but the worry that her blind faith was a mistake grew more in her mind with each step. Still, she knew she had to reassure them. She had led them this far – she had to hope the baby would continue to guide her. “The way will become clear,” Sarra said with more conviction than she felt.
None of the five people with her said anything. Sarra wasn’t surprised. Nele’s face was carefully blank and she knew he wouldn’t question her, although she was sure he was worried. Geve’s expression showed his obvious concern, but again, he wouldn’t question her. Betune and Kytte both looked nervous, and Amabil continued to look belligerent, although she too remained quiet for now.
The news of Turstan’s arrest had shocked them all, and she knew their hearts must be pounding, their mouths dry the same as hers. They wanted to believe her. But doubt loomed like towering shadows in their minds.
“Where are we going?” Geve whispered to her. They travelled in single file through the narrow alleys, and he was behind her, holding her hand.
She shook her head, not sure whether he could see her in the dim light. He wanted her to confide in him, to trust him to support her, but instinct told her to wait until they arrived at the first checkpoint before she revealed their destination. She knew it wouldn’t please him. Since Comminor had taken her to his bed, Geve had been quiet and reserved, hurt shimmering in his eyes. What choice did I have? She wanted to yell the words, but knew he wasn’t interested in the truth. His heart would rather she had refused the Chief Select, even if it had meant her arrest and probably her death. She understood, but it made her sad.
The passageway twisted west, and the faint rush of water that had accompanied them the last five minutes grew to a loud chatter. The tunnel opened to reveal the river channel that led from its source in the far north of the Primus District, through the Great Lake and then all the way through the Secundus District to the Magna Cataracta not far from where they were.
As they walked quickly along the riverbank, Sarra wondered what was happening to Turstan. She had no doubt he was being tortured and that Comminor and his Umbra were forcing him to tell them about the conversation they had overheard him have with Nele. Would he have told them anything? Was Comminor hot on their trail now, already making his way through the District towards them?
The thought sent cold filtering through her, and she picked up her pace, crossing the river over the old bridge and leading the rest of the group to the opposite bank. Already the bag she carried grew heavy on her back, the weight pulling on the muscles around her stomach. She rested her hands on the bump that swelled above her pubic bone and stroked it lightly. Was it her imagination, or had it grown since that morning? She wore breeches beneath the tunic, and the waistband stretched tightly around her waist. It had not been that tight when she dressed. Had it?
She pushed the thought to the back of her mind. She had more important things to worry about than the tightness of her breeches. At that moment, it felt as if her whole life hung by a thread. The literal and metaphorical path they were on stretched ahead of her, rocky and dangerous, and she could not yet see how the future would pan out. Her gut clenched with fear, and part of her wished she had stayed, become Comminor’s mistress, lived a life of ease and brought her child up in safety.
But inside her, the baby stirred, a constant reminder of her dreams and the urge she felt to reach the Surface. The baby did not want her to stay. She did not yet know whether their journey would be a success, but she did know that she had to try.
The rush of the river in the channel below them grew to a roar, and she knew they were nearing the Magna Cataracta. Here the riverbanks grew lush with mosses, and the humid air wrapped around them: thick, wet and heavy as a sodden blanket. The water ran deep, shining black like the large crystals they mined in the north of the Primus District, and it thundered past them with frightening speed and strength. If she stepped into the channel, she would be swept off her feet, right down the Cataracta. The thought frightened her, and her heart thundered along with the water.
The edge of the waterfall was marked by large boulders and she climbed them hesitantly, afraid of slipping on the wet rock. The others followed, slowly making their way to the centre, where the river disappeared down into the darkness. One large lantern had been nailed into the rock above their heads many years before, and it cast its yellow light eerily across the scene.
Sarra reached the large boulder on the river’s edge and waited for the others to join her. Their faces were pale in the lamplight, solemn but resolute. The dreams gave them all hope that this journey would ultimately be rewarding.
Nele crouched beside her and r
aised his voice over the thundering river. “Where now?”
She waited for Kytte and Amabil to bring up the rear, until they could all hear her. Then she took a deep breath.
“We have to go over,” she said.
They stared at her.
“Over,” Geve said dully.
“Over,” she repeated. “We have rope, and we have to lower ourselves.”
“Down?” Betune said. “How can the way to the Surface be down?”
“Down, then up,” Sarra said. “I promise.”
“It is impossible.” Amabil looked incredulous. “There is no way we could survive that.”
“We can and we will,” Sarra said firmly. “It is the only way out of here.”
“How do you know?” Amabil’s eyes blazed. She turned to the others. “It is crazy to put our lives in her hands!”
Nele’s eyes met Sarra’s. “We have trusted her thus far,” he said, but his words sounded weak to her, his uncertainty ringing through.
Sarra turned to Geve and took his hands. “It is the only way,” she insisted. “Do you believe me?”
He hesitated. “I do… but Sarra, over the Cataracta? It is certain death.”
She began to pull the rope from her bag. “The lantern above is hung from a solid hook that has held for many years. I came here a while ago and tested it – it is firm and will not give. We must tie our ropes to it and lower ourselves down. It will not be easy, but I promise you, it will work.”
Betune caught her hand. “In your condition? You have to think of the baby.”
“I am,” Sarra said simply. “I have dreamed of this every night for weeks. He shows me again and again the river, the Cataracta, the way down.”
“And what happens when we reach the bottom?” Kytte asked.
ARC: Sunstone Page 23