Through Stone and Sea

by Barb Hendee

  “Get the duchess,” she told the captain. “Chane and Shade will hold off the wraith for me to prepare—and stay out of our way! If it touches any of you, you’re dead.”

  The captain glared at her, then turned to Danyel. “Give me the comb and take the duchess into the other room.”

  Tristan went straight for the door to the outer passage and grabbed hold of it to slam it shut.

  “Don’t!” Wynn ordered as she jerked the sheath off the staff’s crystal. “Chuillyon or anyone else won’t be able to get in.”

  “And a closed door will not stop the wraith,” Chane added.

  The captain hesitated, then closed the door only partway. He returned to the pool’s edge. He took the comb from Danyel and leaned over, stretching out his hand.

  “Highness!” he barked.

  The duchess didn’t even raise her eyes as she sloshed over and let him pull her out.

  Chane urged them off with his broken blade. The captain took Reine into the far chamber and guarded the archway while Danyel stood a few paces farther out front. To Chane’s relief, Wynn abandoned her useless concern for these arrogant Numans and focused on their task. She put the glasses over her eyes.

  “Get it as far inside as you can,” she told him. “Then bolt for the other room. Don’t wait, Chane; just go!”

  “I will,” he answered.

  But not until the last instant—not until he was certain she had finished preparing and could ignite the crystal. Since their arrival in Dhredze Seatt, nothing had gone the way he—or she—had envisioned. Here and now, Chane could do what no one else could—face another Noble Dead, regardless of its unique state.

  Shade’s voice dropped to low mewling, almost that of some large cat. She began pacing along the chamber’s far wall beyond the half-open door.

  Chane glanced quickly about, searching for the best positions. He pointed Wynn toward the pool’s ledge, farthest from any wall without stepping into the water. He backed partway toward her, giving Shade room as he watched.

  If Shade did sense the wraith’s direction, she could harass it when it appeared, and he was free to flank it from either side. If she was wrong, he would be ready to take it first, and let her box it in.

  Shade suddenly stopped. Charcoal fur rose on end along her neck and shoulders, and Chane slid his sword back into its sheath.

  “Get ready,” he warned.

  Shade backed along the pool’s edge.

  A patch of wall blackened.

  The stain quickly spread upward and downward and then bulged. Shade’s jaws clacked as the wraith pushed through at the pool’s far side. Its black robes began floating on the air.

  Chane leaped from the ledge to the pool’s far side, boxing the wraith as he heard Wynn begin whispering. He swung his hand straight at the wraith’s cowl.

  It instinctively flinched aside, nearly sinking into the wall, and Shade rushed it from the other side, snapping and snarling.

  Wynn’s repetitious whispers grew to a voiced chant.

  The wraith halted, its cowl turning at her voice. That black opening swung quickly both ways, as if taking in the whole chamber.

  Chane could not let it rush Wynn, and swung at the cowl again with his other hand.

  The wraith vanished, sinking into stone, and Chane’s hand slapped against damp wall as he heard Shade’s jaws snap closed. He quickly pivoted, watching the whole chamber as Wynn’s voice stopped.

  “Shade?” Wynn whispered, and glanced at Chane.

  The dog turned about, sniffing the air with her ears pricked up. She raced past Chane, pacing back between the chamber door and the ledge Wynn stood upon.

  “Where is it?” the captain shouted from inside the far chamber.

  And the black-robe winked in, directly before the archway.

  Danyel drove his sword at it, but in the same instant, its hand reached out, passing through his chest.

  Chane bolted around the pool as Danyel’s blade’s tip slipped out the back of the black cloak. Shade charged, snapping at it from behind. Wynn spun, aiming the staff and chanting once more as Chane ran by her.

  The wraith vanished.

  Chane skidded to a halt behind Shade, both of them snarling in frustration.

  Danyel just stared blankly at them.

  Chane did not notice how pale Danyel looked until the young guard simply crumpled.

  “Danyel!” the duchess shouted.

  His knees hit stone, his eyes still locked open, and he fell forward. Shade sidled quickly away, and the man’s chest and face slapped the floor.

  He was dead.

  Chane spun, keeping Wynn in sight as he watched the whole chamber. He knew what the wraith was doing. That one pause before it sank into stone had been enough. It had taken the lay of this small space and all who were in it. Now it had even gained a glance at the next room.

  “Get out of there!” he told Tristan and he sidestepped toward Shade.

  The captain came out, sword in hand, and hauled the duchess along. She pulled her own saber, and Chane hissed in disgust.

  How many times had they been told, and still they clung to their useless weapons. Even so, the wraith would not be coming through any wall.

  It had taken a life, at least a taste, and Chane felt his own hunger gnawing at him. It gained strength, while he slowly weakened further. It would keep up this tactic, disappearing and reappearing, breaking Wynn’s focus over and over, and exhausting and disorienting all of them.

  Until it pulled them down, one by one.

  “We go now!” he snarled at Wynn.

  Racing to the door, he snatched up their packs, tossing one at the captain.

  “Put it on and carry the other,” he ordered, handing off the second. “And put your weapons away!”

  He shoved Wynn’s pack at the duchess.

  “Go where?” Wynn shot back. “We can’t let that thing come at us in some narrow passage!”

  Chane dropped off the edge into the pool and looked up at Wynn.

  “Down the sea tunnel,” he said. “You use the staff to threaten it off while we run for the outside. We keep moving, changing locations. . . . We must make it out by dawn.”

  Her eyes widened—then her young face wrinkled in anger. She looked about the chamber, perhaps wishing the wraith would come once more. It was obvious she did not want to run.

  Chane was about to pull her down when she let out an exhausted breath. She stepped off the ledge, sinking to her waist in a splash.

  Shade snarled and barked at her from the pool’s edge.

  “No . . . come,” Wynn said.

  “What are you doing?” the captain demanded.

  “We run for daylight,” Wynn said.

  “Or at least somewhere the wraith has not been,” Chane added. “By its tactics, it cannot appear in any place it has not first seen. Now open the gate!”

  The captain still hesitated. The duchess stared at the body of her dead guard, her expression slack. Chane had no interest in either of them, but he empathized with the captain’s dilemma.

  “Into the tunnel,” Reine whispered, almost too low to hear. “Chuillyon knew . . . he knew we could escape from here.”

  All Chane cared about was getting Wynn—and Shade—out of here before the wraith reappeared. They could not defeat it in this place.

  The captain stepped off the edge, followed by the duchess, and waded toward the gate. He reached into the back of his surcoat and handed off a sea-wave-shaped comb to the duchess. In turn, she placed it over the gate’s white metal oval.

  Chane heard grating as the bolt slid open. When the duchess removed the comb, he saw a small pellet of white metal on its underside. She had barely begun to open the gate when . . .

  “Valhachkasej’â!” Wynn cursed under her breath.

  Chane glanced at her. She was staring in fury at the white metal lock.

  Wynn closed her eyes and shook her head. She stepped forward and jerked the gate open, muttering angrily under her breath.


  Chane had no idea what she had said, though her tone was full of venom. Whatever bothered her, it could wait.

  Shade was about to jump off the ledge and swim across, but Chane held her back with a raised hand. He and she had to take the rear for when the wraith finally followed. And it would.

  Chane motioned the duchess and captain into the tunnel after Wynn.

  Sau’ilahk lingered in the outer passage, three strides from the chamber’s door. Then noise echoed up the passage from behind him. He quickly sank into the passage’s wall.

  He had fed only a little, not nearly enough. Killing so quickly did not allow for a proper meal. But the suddenness of his tactics, the helplessness fostered in Wynn and her companions, was a gain in the balance. He would give them a little longer to wonder, let uncertainty feed their fears. Not knowing when and where he would reappear would consume them. And a body lying dead among them was more fuel for that fire.

  Bit by bit, he would break Wynn before he even touched her. A grip on her, or even the duchess, and the staff would come next. No one would risk either life if he demanded it in exchange. Once the crystal was shattered, he could drag off his hostage, and slip into hiding. He would learn where the texts lay before he fed more properly.

  And his prey had nowhere to run.

  A brief glimpse into the adjoining chamber had shown no other exit. The gate beyond the pool was shut, an oval of white metal in place of its lock. As with the portal above the shaft into the underworld, at a guess, only the Stonewalkers could open either. Otherwise those trapped within the chamber would have already fled.

  But night was slipping away too quickly, and he had to finish this.

  Sau’ilahk blinked, materializing before the opening to the second chamber—the last place he had appeared, and so the last place they would be watching for him.

  The pool chamber was empty.

  He rushed into the adjoining room, and on through a rear opening he had not seen the first time. It was only a bedroom with no other way out. He flew straight through the wall, back to the pool’s side.

  The chamber was still empty—and he looked toward the shut gate at the pool’s back.

  Sau’ilahk sank halfway through the floor as he angled down into the pool and approached the iron bars. Distant footfalls echoed up the tunnel.

  How could they have opened the way?

  Wynn had eluded him yet again—and she was running for the dawn.

  Wynn slogged down the tunnel, seawater sloshing inside her boots. Once they’d waded beyond the pool’s outer reservoir, the tunnel floor was clear for as far as her cold lamp crystal’s light could reach. Fortunately the tide was either falling or hadn’t fully risen. But amid fear, she was fuming inside at what she’d seen the duchess do.

  Reine’s comb had a small white metal nub on its back that tripped the gate’s lock.

  All the struggles that she, Chane, and Shade had gone through to get in hadn’t been necessary. She’d had a key all along. The tip of her elven quill, gifted by Gleann in the lands of the an’Croan, was made of Chein’âs metal.

  All she would’ve had to do, it seemed, was touch it to any white metal oval in a gate.

  Wynn cursed under her breath again. Once they were far enough down the tunnel, she handed the cold lamp crystal to Tristan. The duchess took the lead with the captain behind her, holding the crystal high so its light spread ahead and behind. Wynn fell back with Chane and Shade.

  She felt like a coward.

  Others had stayed behind to face the wraith instead of her. There was no telling what had happened to Chuillyon. Much as she disliked him, suspected him, it worried her that he’d never made it to the prince’s chamber—nor had Cinder-Shard or the other Stonewalkers.

  The pressure of her failures grew.

  A woman had lost her husband. A kingdom had lost its prince a second time, trapped in isolation for the burden of mixed blood. And Wynn had brought the wraith in among the unaware.

  All because she wouldn’t let anything get in her way.

  What had she gained for it? She had her old journals, a brief glimpse at the texts, and had unmasked the worshipper of an ancient traitor taken in by the dwarves’ secret guardians of the honored dead.

  Wynn tried to clear her mind. The wraith would come, and if Chane was right, the only thing to hinder it might be the inability to see far enough down the tunnel to close upon them instantly.

  Shade inched forward on her right, and Wynn glanced back at Chane. He’d left his sword sheathed and only kept watch, alternating between behind and ahead. His irises glinted colorlessly whenever the crystal’s light touched them.

  He had stood by her as had no one else but Shade. She wished she could tell him how grateful she was, but this wasn’t the time. If she died this night, would she regret never having told him?

  Shade slowed and turned.

  Wynn halted, following the dog’s gaze. Chane already faced back up the tunnel. She didn’t need Shade’s rumble to warn her.

  “It’s coming,” she said.

  Tristan backed Reine against the tunnel wall and pulled his sword. Perhaps that was his only comfort in not being able to do more. Wynn silently held out her open hand toward the captain and then clenched.

  He closed his fist around the crystal, and all light vanished.

  Wynn fumbled in her pocket for the glasses and pushed them onto her face.

  Shade began mewling, and the sound shuddered in the tunnel.

  “Shade, no,” she whispered, and the dog quieted.

  In the silence, she heard the duchess’s low, quick breaths, and longer, even ones from the captain. Right in front her, Shade hissed in suppressed growls. But she heard nothing from Chane, no breath, no movements, and something else now frightened her.

  “The sun crystal . . .” she whispered, hoping only he heard. “You can’t hide here.”

  “My cloak will be enough.”

  Would it? In her guild room, he’d dropped and covered himself, but il’Sänke had left the sun crystal lit for only an instant. It would take much more to put the wraith down and not just drive it off for the moment.

  “Start your preparation,” he whispered.

  “Can you see it?” she asked.

  “Listen to Shade,” he answered.

  Wynn felt him brush past and crouch behind her. One of his arms wrapped lightly around her waist. What did he think he was going to do, pull her to safety if this didn’t work?

  “All of you, close your eyes!” Wynn whispered. “Chane, keep . . . Pull your hood down over your face.”

  She heard him struggling, but his arm never left her waist.

  In the dark, she felt along the staff with one hand to get a mental fix upon the sun crystal’s position. She focused upon it and began as Domin il’Sänke had taught her. The nested circles and triangles came more quickly, in pairs this time, as she uttered phrases spoken in old Sumanese. Wynn held off the last utterance, just listening.

  Shade snarled loudly.

  Wynn nearly shouted the last words: “Mênajil il’Núr’u mên’Hkâ’ät! . . . for the Light of Life!”

  Light erupted before Wynn’s eyes, and the glasses went black for an instant. A shrieking hiss tore at her ears over Shade’s yelp. The lenses cleared, and she saw . . .

  Beyond the blinding crystal, the wraith thrashed in the tunnel.

  Had she caught it so off guard? Had luck finally turned in her favor? Wynn took a half step and thrust the staff, trying to spear the wraith with the crystal’s searing light.

  The wraith fragmented like soot in the air, spreading in all directions. Its hiss faded and those wisps dissipated under the sun crystal’s intensity.

  Wynn just stood there—then she was startled from inaction as Chane’s hand tightened on her waist. She quickly wiped the pattern from her mind, as well as the triggering utterances lingering in her thoughts.

  The crystal went out, and she fumbled to get the glasses off her face.


  “Some light!” she shouted.

  It came as Tristan opened his fist around the cold lamp crystal.

  “Is it gone?” he demanded. “Is it finished this time?”

  Wynn looked up the empty tunnel.

  She didn’t know how to answer; she’d hoped for some better hint. Everything had happened much the same as when they’d faced it outside the scribe shop. But this time . . . it had burned away so quickly. And she smelled something strange, just a hint over the odor of seawater.

  “Wynn?” Chane whispered.

  “I don’t know,” she answered. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.”

  She held her hand back toward Tristan—who passed off the cold lamp crystal. With the crystal in hand, she tried taking a step up the tunnel.

  Chane let go of her waist, rising, and grabbed the back of her tunic. It startled her. Then something else caught her eye.

  The tunnel’s roof began to stain black.

  “No!” she whispered.

  “Run!” Chane hissed, pulling her back as Shade lunged in front of her.

  Wynn tried to set her feet. The wraith, torn by the light, had simply retreated into the walls. She couldn’t destroy it in here, where it could take refuge in an instant. But she wouldn’t let this thing get to the others.

  There was only one way to halt it—to give it what it wanted.

  “Sau’ilahk!” she shouted, snagging Shade by the scruff. “I know what you want . . . I know where they are!”

  This was a lie; she didn’t know what the wraith sought in the texts, let alone where they were.

  “What are you doing?” Chane asked in alarm.

  Between his pulling, and Shade wanting to lunge, Wynn held her ground.

  Even if the wraith took her bait, tried to make her answer, she couldn’t reveal where the texts were hidden. But if it had to deal with only her, the others might escape.

  The ceiling’s black stain began to drip—to slowly drizzle downward like twisting smoke. Vapors swirled into a column as others took the shape of a cloak’s wing.

  The wraith stood before Wynn in the tunnel.

  It remained too still compared to other times she’d seen it. No invisible breeze lifted its cloak to climb the curved walls. She glared into its cowl’s pit.