by Licia Troisi
Nihal’s moment had come. She rammed her shoulder into the thin layer of rock and, just as she expected, it collapsed with a single blow. She fell to the cavern floor and somersaulted to her feet, her sword in hand. There was no time for strategizing now—her body did all the thinking for her. In one quick slash, she dispensed with the wounded thief.
He wasn’t the only one still left in the cave, however. Just ahead, two men were squeezing themselves through the exit of the second room. As soon as one of them caught sight of her, he opened his mouth to hail the others, but it was too late. He was unarmed, and Nihal killed him easily. The second drew a hunting knife and came at her from behind. Nihal spun around just in time as the sharp blade took off a chunk of her hair. The thief came at her howling, but she blocked his attack readily and lunged at him in a fury. Her throat was beginning to burn from all the smoke. There was no time to drag things out. Relentlessly, she assaulted her enemy, until his back was against the wall. In one powerful motion, she pierced him straight through. Blood gushed and the man sank to the floor, lifeless. The cave grew silent.
Laio was gaping at his friend. “Nihal! How’d you manage to …”
She ran toward him. “Later. Now’s not the time.” She sliced the rope binding his hands and feet and helped him up.
Laio wobbled, trying with difficulty to stay on his feet. “I haven’t moved in days. They kept me tied this whole time,” he began in excuse, but his words were lost in a fit of coughing.
By then, a billow of smoke obscured the cave’s ceiling.
“Stay down,” Nihal ordered, she too crouching to the ground.
There was nothing to do now but hightail out of the cave, and pray the traps would take care of the rest.
Together, they crawled toward the exit as quickly as possible. No one was left to block their path. One inch at time, they neared salvation, Nihal in front, her mind emptied, her body intent on climbing, Laio dragging along behind her, numb with pain. As they crawled within sight of the cave’s entrance, a torrent of heat swept suddenly over them. Nihal came to a halt, overwhelmed by its intensity. She hadn’t expected the fire to flare up so rapidly. Outside, the flames blazed a blinding white.
“Now what?” Laio asked feebly.
Right. Now what? “Turn back! Quick!” Nihal shouted.
In a hurry, they retraced their steps. The fire hissed and cracked menacingly. The cloud of smoke continued to descend.
Once again, they were in the cave’s main room. There, the smoke was higher up, still hugging the ceiling, and they lifted themselves to their knees. Nihal glanced toward the hole she’d made in the wall. It was at least an arm’s length or two above their heads, a narrow, smoke-filled artery. Something to climb up on and reach it, anything so we can breathe!
Nihal spotted a bucket of water in the corner of the room. She ran to it, sliced off two large pieces of cloth from her cloak and dunked them in the water. Laio was coughing convulsively.
“Put this over your mouth,” she said, handing him a piece of the soaked cloth.
In a panic, she scanned the room, looking for anything they could climb up on, but all she found were two straw mattresses and bare rock walls without a single foothold. She scoured every corner, rummaging her brain for ideas. It’s a trap, we’re trapped in here! And I’m the only one to blame if we don’t make it out!
Nihal ran around the room like some wild beast in its cage as the blaze approached. She slipped into the cave’s other room. A pantry. Of course! Why hadn’t she thought of it? Stolen treasures, large trunks, but barrels, too, and every sort of food imaginable. Just what you’d need to maintain a safe hideout.
“Laio, come in here!”
He came as quickly as his stiff legs would carry him.
“I need you to help me move one of these.” Nihal pointed to a large barrel.
They each took a side and tried lifting, but both were out of breath.
Nihal called upon every ounce of strength in her body. “Just a bit more and we’re there. Let’s go!” she shouted, as a stream of smoke snuffed the voice out in her throat.
In the end, it was sheer desperation alone that allowed them to move the barrel beneath the tunnel opening. Both broke into a ceaseless fit of coughing. Nihal grabbed the bucket of water, dumped half of it on Laio and the rest on herself. Laio’s eyes were red and he was wheezing.
“Press the cloth over your mouth and don’t move. Do you understand?”
Laio nodded.
Nihal ran back to the pantry and began emptying out a giant treasure chest. Candlesticks, golden plates, handfuls of jewels flew behind her head, until she’d cleared the trunk entirely. She dragged it into the other room and signaled Laio to help her stack it on top of the barrel.
Now remained the hardest part of all.
Nihal turned to Laio. “We have to go out the way I came in. The passage is narrow, and the air is thin, but you can’t get scared in there, do you hear me? We can do this. You go first, I’ll follow. Go straight and don’t look back.”
Laio nodded, his chest heaving in search of air. He climbed onto their makeshift tower.
It was a hopeless venture. The tunnel was long, and it would be suffocating inside. Their chances of coming out safe on the other end were slim to none.
“Take a deep breath and head upward as fast as you can,” Nihal shouted, once Laio had reached the tunnel’s entrance.
Laio did as he was told and was swallowed by the shadows.
Nihal clambered up the barrel and eased into the tunnel.
As soon as she entered, her breath was gone. Blended now with the reek of mildew was the acrid smell of smoke. The walls were boiling hot, and seemed to flex and tighten around the two fugitives like a supple, living membrane. Their bodies obstructed the flow of smoke rushing toward the exit and a trickle of clean air made its way down.
Laio was moving slowly.
“Did you feel the fresh air? We’re almost out,” Nihal shouted in encouragement. Though in reality they were surrounded by impenetrable darkness and the stench of death.
With Laio’s body obstructing the airflow above her, Nihal could feel herself suffocating. Smoke poured in from every crevice, spiraling upward around them, seeking a way out, just as they were.
“I can’t do it,” Laio wheezed. He stopped moving.
“Yes you can!” Nihal shouted, her voice so hoarse it was unrecognizable. She coughed. A burning, clinging sweat covered her from head to foot. “Keep going,” she said. “I’m right here behind you to help. Just don’t stop moving!”
Laio rallied his strength and began to crawl. Nihal could hear his labored breathing and she stretched out an arm to push him forward. Her lungs blazed, her head spun, Laio’s voice echoed monotonously in her ears: “I can’t do it. … I can’t do it.”
Nihal exploded into a fit of anger. “Stop crying!” she burst. “Did you come all this way to die like a rat? Move yourself!”
Laio picked up his pace, his words drowned out by the anguished rhythm of his wheezing. Behind him, Nihal could feel her consciousness slipping. She went on crawling upward into nothingness.
The rush of air struck them suddenly. Fresh, free-flowing. Overwhelming.
Nihal felt herself collapse. A weak hand gripped her.
It took some time for them to regain consciousness. For a long while they lay on the rock, wheezing, trembling in the night breeze, which felt as cold as a winter chill after the inferno of the tunnel.
Laio was the first to wake. He turned slowly toward his friend and reached out to touch her hand.
“I thought you were dead,” he murmured.
Nihal cracked her eyelids. Above her, the summer sky pulsed with stars. She squeezed Laio’s hand in her own.
14
War Comes to Zalenia
The days flew by. After the dangers Sennar had encountered at sea, the journey felt like a walk in the park. The countryside was enchanting, his horse obedient, and the rations the best one could
hope for. And Ondine was there beside him.
None of the women Sennar had met in his life was anything like her. The first had been Soana, his teacher of sorcery, beautiful and dignified. After that he’d met a few other young sorcerers, but they’d all struck him as cold and full of themselves. With his wild shock of red hair and his absentminded manner, Sennar stood no chance at gaining their friendship. Then there was Nihal. But Nihal was a whole other story. And Sennar didn’t want to think about that right now.
From the moment he’d kissed Ondine, Sennar’s thoughts had turned into a jumble. He hadn’t been able to keep her from coming along on the journey, but deep down he knew he hadn’t really tried, either. She was so pleasant to be around, always smiling so freely, that he’d stopped questioning it all. After nineteen years of seriousness, he felt he owed himself a bit of light-heartedness. He wanted to take the time to figure out exactly what he felt for her. Who knew, perhaps by the journey’s end he’d realize he was in love.
Things were going well again, his mission was on the right track, the Underworld was filled with marvels. What was there to worry about?
The caravan was extensive. The count’s sedan opened the procession behind two guards on horseback. A cortège of servants and couriers and mules laden with provisions followed behind. Sennar and Ondine brought up the rear, with two guards at their heels keeping watch.
They walked throughout the day, stopping only after the sun set. The count possessed several residences within his zone of jurisdiction, which he employed as vacation homes, or as temporary bases when, once each year, he was required to visit all of the villages under his control.
Once outside of his dominion, they stayed the night at inns along the way or as guests in the residences of other counts. Wherever the caravan stopped, they received princely treatment. The count enjoyed great fame, and even those who were not his subjects waited upon him eagerly. Even so, he was met with the occasional malicious glance. Many wondered what a well-respected count like Varen was doing with One from Above and a new arrival in his entourage.
The king’s palace was located in the kingdom’s capital, Zirea, an enormous, sprawling city that occupied an entire ampoule. It was like no other city in the kingdom. Everything was made of glass: houses, buildings, shops, squares, statues. Opaque glass, to keep prying eyes from seeing inside; colored glass that formed interplays of light along the street; rough, angular glass, so as to magically alter the outlines of objects.
In Zirea, Sennar saw sirens for the first time. They were similar to the other inhabitants of Zalenia, except for two unmistakable gills at the base of their necks. Every now and then he would notice them darting about in the open sea.
The capital pulsed with life, though it was nothing like the chaos that reigned in the Overworld’s larger cities, like Makrat. The daily bustle was marked by an exemplary calm—no shouting, no clamor, no confusion. The citizens, all clothed in white or grey, strode about the metropolis with an air of composure.
Though even where the light shines most radiantly, shadows always linger. The city was encircled—besieged—by miserable suburbs. These areas were home to the poorest citizens, mostly new arrivals and people who were ill. By law, they were not permitted to pass through the gates of the brilliant Zirea. As Sennar himself passed through one of these gates, he wondered for the thousandth time if true brotherhood were ever possible.
The king’s castle was an enormous structure at the center of the city. It rose up in an infinite series of steeples and spires—white, transparent, opalescent, all reaching toward the sky. There were no real windows. Air entered directly through the ampoule’s base column and light poured in through several small portholes. Only at second glance did he notice its most extraordinary feature: part of the structure extended out into open water. The castle was divided into two wings, one of which was submerged in the sea’s depths, outside of the glass ampoule. The underwater wing served as a government building for the mermaids and tritons, constructed at the time of Zalenia’s founding as a sign of the inhabitants’ eternal gratitude to those who’d helped them realize their dream.
The two governments were completely separate. The tritons and mermaids had acted merely as welcoming hosts. After all, the settlers from the Overworld had never shown signs of hostility toward the underwater population, nor had they insisted on what would have been an impossible merging of the two peoples. Even though relations between the two were well established and neighborly, the overriding logic was of absolute independence.
“It’s best, I believe, if I speak to His Majesty first. This evening, I’ll inform you of the result of our discussion,” said the count, and Sennar, too, thought it a wise decision.
Sennar and Ondine, in the company of an escort, spent the rest of the day wandering about, gawking at the majestic governmental buildings and the soaring temples that honored the kingdom’s gods, and idling among the shops that lined the side streets. It was Ondine’s first time in a city, and she found everything enchanting. Sennar, on the other hand, felt oddly ill at ease. He couldn’t figure out why, but for some reason he had a sensation of looming danger. Everyone around him seemed to be walking along normally, the streets and public squares humming quietly, and yet the sorcerer’s nerves were on edge.
“Is there something the matter?” Ondine asked him suddenly, shaking him from his thoughts.
“No, everything’s okay.” Sennar smiled. “Come on, let’s go take a look at that vendor’s stall.”
On the counter was a series of drawings that seemed to represent imaginary lands: idyllic landscapes, fertile fields, wild forests. All of a sudden, Sennar realized why this particular stall had caught his eye. Propped at the front of the stall was a painting featuring a sort of observatory and several little men writing intently and peering through an enormous telescope. Sennar leaned in closer to the canvas. His heart skipped a beat. The figures in the painting were thin, with blue hair and pointed ears. Half-elves.
The merchant saw a potential customer in this strange, hooded figure. “Welcome, visitor,” he said with a mellifluous voice. “Do you like this one? These are the astronomers of the Land of Days. I’ll sell it to you at a discount.”
Sennar made no response. His thoughts were a thousand miles away, swirling with images of Nihal. Where was she? How was she? Did she think of him still?
“Sennar,” Ondine murmured, caressing his arm.
The sorcerer came back to his senses. “Where did you get it?” he asked the salesman.
The merchant narrowed his eyes at Ondine. “I can see you’re not from around here. Me, I made it myself, stranger! Palevudd, in the flesh, at your service.”
“You know the half-elves?” Sennar asked.
“Who doesn’t?”
“I mean to say, you’ve seen them?”
“How could I have? They’re from Above. I made this painting with the Ballads of Exodus in mind. It’s a fine piece. Would you like it?” the merchant asked, getting back to business. But Sennar had already grabbed Ondine by the arm and was walking away.
“Did you like it?” Ondine asked him.
“No, I was only curious.”
Nihal. Yes, Nihal … How could he have fooled himself?
That evening, he waited for the count in the tavern at the inn where they were staying.
“It’s getting late, Ondine,” said Sennar, once they’d finished eating dinner. “It’s best if you get some sleep.”
“Actually, I thought I’d wait here with you.”
The sorcerer looked at her tenderly. “It’s not necessary. Honestly. I can tell you’re tired. You should go up to your room. Go on.”
Ondine obeyed without protest.
Sennar wanted to be alone. It all seemed crystal clear to him now. What did he think he was doing with Ondine? She wasn’t the one he wanted. She wasn’t the one who filled his dreams.
He was wrestling with his guilt when the sensation returned—the same, portentous feeling from ea
rlier that day. He banished all thought from his head, closing his eyes. When he reopened them, he began scanning the room, taking stock of everyone around him. One by one, he crossed them off. Not the man seated in the back, nor the woman up at the counter, nor the drunk man at the table … All of a sudden, the sensation fled. Sennar leaped to his feet just in time to notice a wisp of black cloak slip through the door. He took off in pursuit, but when he reached the doorway he nearly rammed into Count Varen.
“Did you see who went out just before me?” he asked in a rush.
“I wasn’t paying attention,” Varen replied. “What’s going on?”
Sennar shook his head. “Nothing. Let’s go inside. Tell me about the king.”
Sennar sat at the tavern’s most isolated table, listening intently to the count.
“I spoke to His Majesty. It was a long and difficult discussion. I want to be frank with you, Councilor. The king is not well-disposed toward you.”
“I didn’t expect he would be,” Sennar replied. A nice glass of Shark would have done him well right now. He ordered a drink. “So, I’m assuming he has no interest in seeing me.”
“No, I was able to secure a meeting. Tomorrow, at the parade grounds at the royal palace, before the people. You’ll have to be chained. The king fears you. And …” the count hesitated for a moment. “If you fail to convince him, he’ll have you executed on the spot. And the same goes for me.”