A blast of cool air hit her face and blue lights appeared high above her. In the dim light, she saw Lore and the other men stand. She stood too, her eyes adjusting to the small amount of light.
They had entered a large cavern. Blue, shimmering rocks jutted out from the ceiling, about twenty feet above her. More were lined along the walls. She slowly turned. The room was large, twice the size of the dining hall back in the Monastery.
Caleb came to stand beside her. The blue light made his face look pale and hard.
Lore turned and took in the cavern. “Fre stones.”
“Yes.” Cargan straightened up and entered the room. “We have lined all the caves and mines we use with fre stones. Torches and fires are a luxury we can only afford in our main hideouts. Even then, we take great precautions not to be caught.”
“So you have a network of hideouts across Kerre?”
“Yes.” Cargan walked across the cavern, his boots pattering on the uneven stone. “It is what has kept us safe and hidden from the shadows and Shadonae all this time.”
Nierne’s eyes adjusted to the dimness. The blue light from the fre stones made the cavern seem cold.
Lore stopped turning and looked at Cargan. “So you’ve never had a shadow invade one of your caves?”
“Only once, and recently.” Cargan glowered. “Someone wasn’t careful. We lost a small recon group up north. For the longest time, the shadows stayed near Thyra. Only lately have they begun to spread across Kerre. We’ve been moving across the country, urging those who hadn’t moved yet to flee or hide. Deraude was still deciding. They waited too long. Speaking of which, did you see the shadow that killed those people?
The three glanced at each other.
Cargan laughed. The sound echoed eerily around the cavern. “No, you couldn’t have, or you would be dead now, right along with those unfortunate people.”
Nierne frowned. How could Cargan laugh about the deaths of those people? Had he really grown so hard over the last year?
Cargan took a couple steps back and sat down. His men followed, each taking a seat on the floor or on a slab of rock. He motioned to the three of them. “Please, sit and rest. We still have an hour before we can move safely back to one of our main hideouts.”
“Safely?” Lore said. “What do you mean ‘safely’?”
Nierne sat down and waited for Cargan’s answer. Caleb sat down beside her, his knee brushing hers. His touch brought a small measure of safety.
“We’ve discovered the shadows don’t like the midday sun. So when we move about, we do it during midday. It’s kept us safe so far.”
She shivered. What kind of life was that? Living underground, only moving when the sun was highest in the sky, always wondering if a shadow was lurking around the corner.
Cargan pulled out his waterskin and took a long drink. The other men pulled small cloth-wrapped objects from their packs.
Caleb swung his own pack around and pulled out a round of cheese. He held it out to her. “Would you like some?”
Her stomach rumbled and she nodded. He pulled his dagger out, the one Cargan had let him keep. With deft fingers, he sliced a wedge of cheese and handed it to her.
“Thank you.” She went to bite into the cheese and paused.
Caleb sliced another wedge and handed it to Lore. The way his fingers moved with that dagger, like it was an extension of him. He looked back at her. “Something wrong with the cheese?”
She blinked. “No.” She took a hurried bite, wondering if he had caught her staring at him. Sometimes she forgot what Caleb had been—an assassin.
Her eyes came back to his fingers, now holding his own wedge of cheese between his thumb and forefinger. Those same hands had taken lives. But as much as she tried to imagine him stabbing someone—or however he did it—she couldn’t. All she could see now was the blade of light coming from his palm and the way he had dispatched that shadow.
Perhaps it was better that way. She wanted to know Caleb as he was now, not as he was then.
The company munched on the food without talking. She finished the cheese and washed it down with a long draught of cool water from her waterskin. Then she sat quietly and watched the shadows play against the wall. It felt strange to be back in Kerre. Maybe because she was a different person than when she had left over a year ago. She had seen so much, experienced so much. Could the woman she was now ever go back to being a scribe in the Monastery?
Before she could think on it more, Cargan stood.
“It’s midday now. Time to go.” The other men stood and gathered up their things. Caleb and Lore did as well, cinching shut their packs and brushing away any crumbs. Nierne stood and swung her pack onto her back. Soon she would be with her people again. Maybe she would even see the fathers and other scribes from the Monastery, if any were left.
But that thought did not answer her question . . .
Would she still belong?
They spent the next two days making their way through valleys between the hills, heading in a northerly direction. No one spoke. They walked silently in single file. The sun moved across the sky and a chilly wind sprang up in the afternoons. Evenings were spent in small hollows or caves.
As the sun began to sink to the west on the third day, they reached the edge of the hills. Before them was a vast grassy plain, as far as the eye could see. Somewhere north of where they stood was the city of Thyra. Nierne glanced at Cargan. Surely they were not heading there, were they?
Instead of stepping away from the trees onto the plain, Cargan turned right toward a narrow ravine.
She relaxed. She wasn’t ready to see Thyra.
They went a hundred feet down the ravine and he stopped before a stack of boulders, each the size of a man. By now twilight had fallen, and she could barely see in the dim light. It was later than Cargan usually let them be outside. He walked around a boulder and disappeared inside the hill. The rest of them followed.
Behind the boulders was the entrance to an old mine. It reminded her of the silver mine she had stayed in shortly after her escape from Thyra. It wasn’t the same one, but maybe they were connected.
Unlike the cavern they had stayed in earlier that day, this tunnel was tall enough even for Lore to stand upright and held up by thick wooden beams. Fre stones hung from the beams by leather straps and cast the mining shaft in cool blue light.
The tunnel sloped down at an even, but steep pace. Nierne kept one hand along the wall for support and followed. After a couple hundred feet, the fre stones were replaced with torches. Another hundred feet and she heard the soft echo of voices.
A bright orange light appeared at the end of the tunnel. The light moved and danced across the walls, and shadows passed before it. The voices grew louder.
The tunnel opened up into an enormous cavern. The ceiling was at least thirty feet high and three times as long. The orange light came from a large bonfire that burned in the middle. There were other tunnels around the cavern, leading away from the main room. A man stood next to each doorway, dressed in what looked like some kind of cobbled together uniform.
She looked back at the bonfire. Around the fire was a large crowd of people, at least fifty or more. They were dressed in tattered clothing and a couple wore bandages around their arms or waists. Many of them turned to look at Nierne and the others. Their faces were gaunt, as if they hadn’t eaten a decent meal in ages, and their eyes had a hollow look to them. Most of them were men, with long, scraggly beards and hair that reached past their ears.
Nierne took a step back until she bumped into Caleb. Who were these people? They almost reminded her of the prisoners back in—
One man stood up. His hair was dark and coarse, and a beard covered most of his face. He wore long brown robes with a rope around his waist. He stared at her and she stared back, her heart stopping.
She would know t
hat face anywhere. “Simon?”
Chapter
33
The man’s eye went wide. “Nierne?” His voice cracked.
She stepped away from Caleb and moved across the room. “Simon, I can’t believe . . .”
He closed the distance between them. She almost hugged him, then stopped. Physical affection had always been frowned upon in the Monastery.
At second glance, she almost gasped. Simon was so thin–just skin and bones. His monastery robes, once the pride of his existence, were threadbare and torn in a couple places. The tendons along his neck stuck out and she was sure she could wrap her fingers around his wrists. “Simon, what happened to you?”
“Nierne . . .” His gaze moved up and down her body. “You look well.” His eyebrows scrunched together. “Where have you been all this time? What happened to you after the siege?”
“I’m wondering the same thing about you.” She rubbed her arms against the chill in the air.
He noticed and motioned toward the bonfire. “Come, sit by the fire, and let us talk.”
He led her to the back of the fire where long slabs of stone lay. She sat down on the closest one and held her hands out toward the fire. Simon sat down beside her, his gaze never leaving her face. “For the longest time I thought you were dead, along with all the others. Then Father Cris arrived in my cell a couple months after the siege. He told me he helped you escape.”
“Yes, he did.” She remembered that night over a year ago. “He helped many of us escape during that first breakout from Cragsmoor. What about you, did you escape as well?”
Simon looked back at the fire. The shadows made his face look skeletal. “No. They never reached my end of Cragsmoor. Father Cris was captured and placed in my cell.”
“Oh. Is he here now?” She glanced around. “Did he escape with you as well?”
Simon shook his head.
“Then is he . . .”
“Dead. Yes.”
Nierne turned and stared at the fire. She had liked Father Cris. Next to Father Reth, he was one of the kinder fathers to her. “Did anyone else from the Monastery make it?”
“Father Karl did.”
“Father Karl is here?”
“Yes, but you wouldn’t recognize him. He doesn’t speak anymore.”
Nierne clasped her hands together. “Simon, exactly how long were you in Cragsmoor?”
He gave a small, harsh laugh. “Almost a year.”
Her mouth fell open. “A year?”
“Yes. It was hell, Nierne. Never knowing if the Shadonae would come for me, or if I would die from starvation, or sickness, or rats.”
She shivered at the word “rats”.
“And it was so dark in there, deep inside Cragsmoor, like all hope had been sucked away, leaving only blackness behind. Sometimes I thought I was already dead and condemned to stay in that dark pit.”
“Oh Simon.” She took his hand between hers, pushing past her former training. He needed her right now.
He glanced up, eyes wide.
“I’m so sorry.” She gently rubbed his hand. “I am so, so sorry.”
He hesitated, then grasped her hand. “I never thought I would see you again. Anyone again. I wanted to die. Near the end”—his voice lowered to a whisper—“I wanted the Shadonae to come for me, to be done at last.”
She knew that feeling of hopelessness. Not that she had wanted to die, but she’d truly thought the Word had left her behind when she was sold into slavery in Temanin. How could it be that two people who had served the Word all their lives did not have the faith to sustain them during the darkness that came? Had the Monastery sheltered them too much?
No, that wasn’t true. Father Reth had had faith enough to face death, and she suspected it had nothing to do with his previous life. He had known the Word, truly known the Word, not just about Him.
Nierne looked back at Simon. “So how did you escape Cragsmoor?”
A small smile spread across his face, almost lost within his beard. “An Eldaran appeared and saved us.”
She stopped. Could it be Rowen? “An Eldaran? Are you sure?”
His face took on a yearning look, so different from the mask of death from moments ago. “Yes.” He squeezed her hand. “They exist. Can you believe it? The Word sent her to save us. She was beautiful and powerful.”
“Did she have a name?”
Simon shook his head, his mind somewhere else. “She was a Truthsayer. She freed one of our soldiers and Senator Regessus from their twisting.”
“Senator Regessus was twisted?”
“Yes, but she freed him, just with her hand.”
“The Shadonae are letting an Eldaran move around Thyra freely?”
“No.” His eyes came back into focus. “She is a prisoner there.”
“Then how did she free you?”
“She is not locked up like the rest of us. She is allowed to wander the city. However, she wears a chain glove over her hand.” He smiled. “But her power can reach past the metal.”
Nierne sat back, his hand slipping from hers. Rowen’s power could reach past metal? But how? Every story she knew about the Eldarans required their mark to physically touch someone in order to use their power. But then again, Rowen had done something back in the White City to the Temanin Army without ever touching them. Was she different somehow? And did the Shadonae know? No, they couldn’t, or they would have locked her up. Or killed her.
Just how powerful was Rowen?
“I think she will save us, Nierne.” She turned back to Simon. “I believe the Word sent her to save us, all of us.”
She hoped so. But a Truthsayer had no power over the shadows that protected the Shadonae. Was that why Caleb was here?
“Nierne, who is your friend?”
Speaking of . . .
Caleb stood behind her, his arms crossed, his gaze centered on Simon.
“Caleb.” Nierne motioned toward Simon. “This is Simon, one of the scribes from the Thyrian Monastery. A good friend of mine.”
Simon stood. Both men were approximately the same height, both with ebony hair. Caleb’s skin was darker, and his body more filled out, whereas Simon was thin, his skin a pasty white from months spent deep inside Cragsmoor.
Nierne coughed. “And Simon, this is Caleb. A companion of mine, and also a friend.” The men seemed to size each other up and both frowned.
Caleb moved his gaze away from Simon in a dismissive gesture. “I’m sorry to interrupt your reunion, Nierne, but Cargan has called us into a meeting.”
“A meeting?”
“Yes.” The word was said in a final tone. Whatever it was Cargan wanted to talk to them about, Caleb did not want to say in front of Simon.
Nierne stood and looked back at Simon. “I hope we can talk again.”
He gave her a warm smile, washing away the cold look from moments before. “I would like that. It would be like old times, back in the Monastery library.”
“Yes, it would.”
Caleb waited for her, his countenance dark. “This way,” he said, and turned.
Nierne followed him across the large cavern toward one of the openings between the rocks. What was with him? A couple people around the fire glanced their way, their gaze lingering on Caleb. Did he feel uncomfortable here? She hadn’t thought about Caleb feeling uncomfortable anywhere. Then again, she had never seen him around anyone but his own people. Maybe he felt like he stood out.
He led her down the dark tunnel. The air was musty, a mix of dust and dirt. Every couple feet a room or another tunnel jutted away from main one, marked by a burning torch or a large fre stone embedded in the wall. The rooms they passed held sleeping pallets and knapsacks. In one room a handmade doll lay on the floor beside a pile of blankets. This must be where the refugees stayed. A small place to call home.
“Here we are.” Caleb entered the room.
Nierne followed. The room was twice as high as her, and almost perfectly round, in a natural kind of way. In the center burned a fire. The smoke rose in one, long curl toward a crack in the ceiling. Veins of white stone sparkled inside the walls.
Five men stood around the fire, all of differing heights. She spotted Lore to the left. Then there was Cargan, two men she did not know, and one tall, gaunt looking man. Senator Regessus. All of them turned and watched her and Caleb approach the fire.
Cargan rubbed his hands over the flames. The fire made his beard and hair look more fiery orange than it usually was. Two orange pinpricks appeared in his eyes as he looked at Nierne and Caleb across the fire. “Let me introduce everyone in this room.” He pointed at Lore. “Men, this is Lore Palancar, former Captain of the Guard of the White City.”
Lore gave a small nod.
“Next to him is Endre, former sea merchant and head of the merchant’s guild.”
Endre was a short, stout man with round cheeks, tiny eyes, and a mop of brown hair. He looked like a cheery fellow. He smiled and bowed.
“And next to him is Juris, another former city watchman.”
Juris was the exact opposite of Endre. His face was angular, with grey stubble across his jaw. There was a droop in his eyes and his thin hair fell across his forehead in long, greasy strands. He folded his arms and stared at the fire.
“And Senator Regessus.”
Regessus gave a small dip of his head.
She remembered him. She’d met him a year ago when they escaped Thyra. He was a tall, thin man with grey sprinkled throughout his dark hair. It was he and the other senators who had invited the Shadonae into Thyra.
She glared at him, but her anger quickly turned to pity. Simon said the senator had been mind twisted. It looked like his soul had been taken away in the process. She sighed. The man had already paid for his transgressions, he did not need her anger too.
Heir of Hope (Follower of the Word Book 3) Page 28