by Dale Furse
Although the agony in his diaphragm made breathing painful, he listened through his throbbing head for his pursuers. The shouts must have stopped sometime during his descent.
Mike lay surrounded by silence as his breaths became less painful. He opened his eyes and waited for any sounds of movement. Ignoring all of his aches and pains, he felt the walls.
It was darker than any night he had ever known, not a star above. He tried to focus, but was rewarded with more black nothing. Steep sides surrounded him. Even at his fittest, there was no way he could climb them. The small, flat area, on which he landed, was nothing but broken rock with no vegetation. Utterly exhausted and unable to do anything about his predicament, he rested his aching head on one arm and slept.
***
When Mike awoke, his tongue felt more than twice its normal size and as dry as his throat.
The eerie grey of morning light filled his prison and he peered at the sheer walls rising above him. He groaned. He was stuck with no way out, thirst and starvation would surely kill him if the infection did not do him in first. Not one blade of grass to eat. Nothing.
He locked his arms around his legs and rested his head on bloodied knees. Was this the end? Poor Terni. What of Derek? He wasn’t involved with Ludo at all, nor was he a fool. If there was a way he could stop his brother, he would. Maybe that is why Derek had left Mike. Maybe he had a plan to bring down his brother. Mike hoped so. Salty tears fell onto his scraped knees. They stung on his raw flesh, but he didn’t even try to stop the flow.
Sobs wretched from his chest. He didn’t care that his nose ran or that globs of dribble fell from his mouth with every convulsive gasp. No one could see him anyway. No one would ever see him again. Every time he thought of home, more sobs burst forth. His mother would never know what happened to him. She would never know he was dead on a completely different world.
Mike didn’t know how long he had sat there, but after a while, no more tears could be wrung from his eyes. He wiped them. Sore and swollen, he patted them with what was left of the bottom of his jacket.
Images of his mother, Terni and even Vala floated through his mind. He couldn’t just give up and die. He had to find a way out. As he rested his eyes, he couldn’t believe this was the end and somewhere amongst his harried thoughts came a decision to not lie down and die.
With renewed energy, he again surveyed his surroundings. When he moved, a clump of shale mounded against the wall caught his eye and he flicked at the small bits trying to level it. After several minutes, a hole appeared. He pushed handfuls of rock out of the way until he uncovered a small opening into the mountain.
He measured his shoulders against the opening. It was big enough, but how was he too know if it got smaller once he ventured in. What if he got stuck? Droplets of sweat dribbled from high on his forehead. Cold filled his face and washed through his entire body. Mike sat back and stared at the hole.
Scanning the walls of his prison once more, he wished there was another way out, but he knew there wasn’t, even before he looked. He took a deep breath, told himself to remember to breathe, hunched his shoulders, and crawled through the hole. There might be water.
Nothing but blackness greeted him. If there were animals or insects, he would never know until he met them. If there were any, he hoped none was poisonous. He was sure the hole was getting smaller, and hunched his shoulders even more. Alarm welled in his chest and he wondered if he should crawl out backwards. He stopped, unsure whether to continue. Maybe he would get stuck and die or go back to the confines of the well until he died anyway?
He tried to swallow, but his mouth was so dry there was no liquid. As if by realizing how dry his mouth had become, his tongue seemed to swell. A moan escaped his parched throat as he made himself as small as he could and continued through the blackness.
A short while later, his head found a wall of rock. “Ow.” He berated himself for making a noise.
Hoping it wasn’t a dead end, he brushed over the floor, first with his right hand which found another wall of rock, then with his left hand. He stretched his arm fully and moved his hand around. No wall. He realized it was the continuation of the tunnel around a bend. Turning, he scraped even more skin off his elbow, but managed the maneuver. A short crawl later, his head again bumped into the rocky wall. He looked and felt to his left, nothing, but to his right, a speck of light shone in the distance. An opening.
At first, the light didn’t seem to get any bigger, but onward he went. He did not know how long he had crawled through the tunnels, his knees and hands wet with what he was sure was blood. Every now and then, he would look at the light, and after many torturous moments, it finally got a little bigger with every shuffle forward.
He slowed as he approached the opening and, as quietly as he could, crept close enough to see what was on the other side. A large cavern. He scanned the area for the source of light. Tiny bulbs of glitter covered the ceiling of the cave. Glow-worms. They were glow-worms. There were so many of them. Thousands, perhaps even millions.
Mike clambered down. There were two tunnels leading out from the other side of the space, tunnels he could easily stand in. He looked again at the many stalactites hanging from the glow-worm infested ceiling, and hoped the dripping rocks had a strong grip. The exits looked identical. Mike sat on the cool cavern floor and gazed from one to the other.
Chapter 19
The sound of running water echoed in his ears. Mike’s parched throat constricted with the vision of the cool liquid running down into his empty stomach. Unsure of which direction the sound emanated from, he peered down the closest tunnel. Still light.
He decided to try the second one, it had a higher ceiling. If the sound grew fainter, he could always double back and try the other.
Mike was more than glad the glow-worms had also made their home there. “Thanks guys,” he said to his friends of light as he made his way through caves, which were sometimes as wide as a house and sometimes as narrow as a hallway. Although the air was humid, the caves were well ventilated and, when in the narrower passages, a breeze touched his face.
He hoped he wouldn’t get lost in the labyrinth of tunnels and chambers. The sound of water hadn’t faded, but nor had it strengthened. He gave a half-hearted shrug. He thought he might as well follow his nose. He had to find the water.
He passed many smaller tunnels both to his right and left, and guessing the larger caves would be where the streams ran, he stayed in those.
Long minutes passed, but the water still lapped at its banks at it wound through the mountain. The snow-capped mountains above must be the source of the streams, rivers, and lakes abounding in the region. Not aware of what direction he had traveled, Mike wondered if he headed toward the ocean. His thoughts led him to a very good probability he was in the same cave system as the bandits and Terni.
He slowed his pace, alert for any sounds that might indicate the bandit’s presence.
The sound of water babbling over and around rocks grew fainter. Blast. His tongue thickened even more. If it got any bigger, it would block his throat and he would die for sure. His thigh filled with burning pain. His stomach too made itself known. Cramps hit him every now and then so volatile, he had to stop and grasp his waist. He dripped with sweat form a certain fever. Bent over in agony, the emptiness of his stomach disappeared as his head filled with strange lightness and seemed to float above his shoulders instead of resting on his neck.
He forgot which way he came from and which way he was going. Water still sounded in the distance. Although he was dazed and wanting to lie down and give up, he pushed on.
The cave began to shrink and he had to first stoop, then get on hands and knees, and once again crawl. He shivered at the thought of spiders all around him and wished the glow-worms had rested there.
The muscles in his hands cramped and he realized he had been pulling himself forward with his fingers. His injured leg dragged behind him. He ached all over and the moan he had been tryi
ng to suppress rumbled through his teeth, its noise filling the tunnel.
He covered his mouth with a frozen, clawed hand. If someone heard, he could be in real trouble. He almost laughed. As if he wasn’t already in real trouble. With his ever-shortening breath, he wondered if the oxygen had disappeared.
He kept on pushing and pulling his body through but without notice, he collapsed, unable to go on. Panting like a dying dog, he closed his weary eyes and waited for the darkness surrounding him to seep into his brain.
A cry penetrated his mind. Terni or baby Derek, he didn’t know, but he forced his eyes open and raised his face forward. Light shone from the end of the tunnel. Real or in his mind, he did not care. That quick sound had heightened his awareness.
The cramps in his stomach subsided and he laughed.
Was he delirious?
Further on, a boulder barred half the passageway, but beyond, the light brightened and grew. Glow-worms.
Mike stretched and slithered like a snake around the rock. Once on the other side, familiar smells drifted to his nose—bread and spices. He stopped and sniffed. Roast beef. It smelled like roast beef and the only roast beef he had whiffed lately was the Mashki he and Noor had found on the spit. New strength filled his soul at the thought of food and water.
Just before the opening, he paused. Hoping he wasn’t going mad, he lengthened his neck and peered through the opening. He could not believe his luck. The tunnel had brought him to some sort of expansive kitchen. Mashki roasted on a spit above a fire pit in the middle of the room with a great natural chimney above it.
Along the sidewalls, benches had been laden with freshly baked bread and trays of what might be custard. Sacks of fruit and vegetables, and casks of beer or wine filled under the benches. Wide shelves were fixed to the rock wall above a thick, wood table, and more water bags rested underneath—all bulging with life. Excitement welled in his chest and his mouth watered.
Mike shook his head and told himself to calm down. There was also a closed door in the right corner of the far wall. He struck a crawling position and lifted a hand, but the door creaked. He caught his breath, jumped back, and pushed his body against the wall.
“I don’t care what Ludo says, I’m hungry,” a man complained.
“If Ludo hears you talk like that, you won’t have to worry about being hungry again,” a gruff male said. “The prince wants the first fire room to himself, and he won’t like being disturbed. Now get out of here and take your place at the cave’s entrance.”
“I’ll just grab this bread loaf then,” Mr Complainer said.
“Put it down, you dolt, and scamper. Or I’ll let Ludo’s personal guard deal with you,” said Mr Gruff.
Mike heard something splatter against the wall.
“Fine,” Mr Complainer said. “As soon as this war is over, I’m going to get myself a small package of land and…” his voice trailed off as he moved away.
Mike let out a great sigh of relief. He wondered where the first fire room Mr Gruff spoke of was. Thinking it must be close to the kitchen, Mike figured no one would enter the kitchen for sometime.
He dropped onto the stone floor and looked around. Small chunks of smashed apple still hung on the wall. His eyes rested on the roasting Mashki, stomach rumbling and cramping at the smell and look of it. He tried to swallow but the dryness in his throat made him duck under the wooded table and scoop up a water bag.
He gulped at the cool liquid, but a spasm in his stomach reminded him to go slow. He had read, or heard, he couldn’t remember which, if a person hadn’t drunk water for a long time, they must sip it slowly to get their stomach got used to having something in it again.
He swished the water around his mouth, over and under his tongue, before swallowing again. The aroma of the roasting meat could no longer be ignored. He made his way to the spit. As he picked off some crunchy, outer meat, he noticed his bloody hand and shrugged. Food first. He chewed slowly until he was sure he was able to swallow the morsel.
As the food traveled to his stomach, he glanced around looking for a knife. On another bench was a bunch of knives and tin plates. He grabbed one of each. After he had piled the plate with as much as it would hold, he put it, the water bag, and some apples in the tunnel and climbed back up.
After he ate what he thought to be a good amount, he lent back on the rocky wall. Nausea waved though him and his mouth watered, drawing his meal back up his throat. A cold sweat broke out. He fell to his side and heaved until his stomach was empty again. His head ached and he wanted to groan but kept as quiet as he could.
Pulling himself back up, he checked his thigh. The wound was angry red and swollen. The cut had closed in places but greenish pus oozed out in others. The infection was worsening. He had to get Terni, get out of there, and go home, but the vomiting had exhausted him even more. He sank to the ground and slept.
Cries echoing through the labyrinth woke Mike with a start. “Terni,” he gasped.
He looked down on the plate of meat. Ants swarmed all over the plate and its contents. Another wave of nausea had him gagging at the sight. He blinked it back and peeked into the kitchen room. Empty.
He jumped down and crept to the only way out. The passageway resembled a large burrow, but there were no glow-worms. Lamps on the walls lit his way. He heard Terni’s anguished cry. “Nooo.” He picked up his pace.
Voices sounded where the lights brightened through a large opening signifying another chamber.
“I’ll have those wings.”
Ludo.
“Never.” Terni’s screech echoed through the chambers.
Mike smashed his lips together. The kid was crying and scared, but he stood up to Ludo.
Keeping his back hard against the wall, Mike slid along until he could see. Ludo was alone with Terni. The little messenger, hung by hands tied with rope from a metal hook in a rock on the side of the chamber. Ludo stood over him with a large knife.
In the middle of the room, a large pot hung above a fire-pit. It looked like a scene out of a movie. A witch’s caldron bubbled, ready for some sort of spell, and Terni’s wings had to be the next ingredient.
Opposite the tunnel Mike hid in was another opening, but it was fitted with a heavy wood door, which Mike presumed Ludo had locked. So that’s why no one else came into the kitchen. They would have to go through the chamber.
Ludo picked the boy off the hook. Terni looked skinnier than the last time Mike had seen him. The prince pushed the kid down to make him sit. Terni fell against the cave wall with a thump, crumpled to the floor and swung his head to the side, blood wetting his hair.
Ludo jerked one of Terni’s feet in the air and raised his sword. “I will have these wings.”
Mike bit back the pain in his leg and readied his stance to leap on Ludo’s back, but as he emerged from the tunnel, something glistened to his right. The sword. He threw out his hand and collected it while still advancing on Ludo.
Ludo swung the knife around. Surprise and astonishment erupted on his face, but he quickly recovered and threw the knife directly at Mike’s chest.
Mike blocked it with his sword and, nearly in the same movement, touched the point to Ludo’s throat.
The would-be king threw his hands up as if to surrender. Terni groaned and Mike pushed the sharp point just hard enough to produce a spot of blood. “You better be thankful he’s alive,” Mike said through gritted teeth. “Because if he wasn’t, you would be dead now.”
“Do you know who you’re talking to?”
“Oh, yes, Prince Ludo. Prince Ludo the murderer by the looks of things.”
“I wasn’t going to kill him,” Ludo said, tilting his head to the little messenger. “I was just going to take his wings.”
“Why?”
“Mike.” Terni widened his eyes and ogled his bloody hand. He must have touched the injury at the back of his head.
Mike bent and turned the boy’s head without taking his sword from Ludo’s throat. “It’s all rig
ht, Terni, it’s not that bad.” He hoped he wasn’t mistaken. With his vision blurred, he could hardly see it properly.
“You move,” he said to Ludo, “and I’ll cut you bad.”
He felt Terni’s head. The blood had already congealed at the cut. In the cave wall where Ludo had pushed him, a tiny irregularity protruded from the rock. “It’s just a scratch,” Mike said to Terni, before focusing his attention on Ludo.
“Why do you want Terni’s wings?”
Ludo glanced at a small table Mike had not noticed before. An open book with something holding the page down rested on the wood top. Mike flicked his sword and cut the rope bonding Terni. Ludo jumped to the side and Mike jabbed the sword into the prince’s throat just enough that the prince’s blood covered the tip.
He kept it there and sidestepped around Ludo. Still keeping the sword pressing against the prince’s flesh, he picked up the book. A small, oval, opaque stone fell to the floor.
A gem, similar to the one he wore around his neck. The book’s words were unreadable and Mike remembered what Hankley told him his stone did. He scooped it up. While he struggled to balance the book on his arm and bend his hand over the tome to hold the gem, he was amazed he could still hold the sword in his other hand steady against Ludo’s throat. “Move and it will be your last.”
Mike peered at the words. Ludo took his chance and broke free of the sword’s tip.
Dropping the book and gem, Mike lunged after the prince. “No, you don’t.” He hauled on the back of the prince’s cape so hard with strength Mike never knew he had, and flung him across the room. Ludo grunted as his head met the wall but his body stilled, unconscious.