by Giles Carwyn
The cliffs south of Physen blotted out half of the starry sky, and she kicked backward, keeping her distance from them. The waves were deceptively gentle at this distance, but they would crush her if she let them carry her into the jagged rocks.
Krellis said there would be archers watching the cliffs, but they would have a hard time spotting her. She had dyed her entire body with juice of the midnight plum, and her black hair was bound tight against her scalp.
The Kherish sailors had been afraid to talk to her on the journey south, and Shara nurtured that fear. The men had stared in hungry amazement as she stripped naked on the deck, black as a starless sky, and leapt from their ship, tied to a sackful of iron. The sack rested on a wooden plank, following her as she paddled several miles from the ship to the shore.
Shara clung to the wood as the waves urged her toward the cliffs. Without the plank, the iron would have dragged her to the bottom of the ocean long ago. The saltwater constantly stung where the rope had chafed her waist, but she funneled the pain inward, adding it to her power.
Her eyes glittered as she scanned the base of the cliff and remembered the conversation that had led her here.
“It is a fool’s errand,” Krellis said. “Leave the boy.”
Shara sneered at the man’s arrogance. “Baelandra said you broke into the Wet Cells. Does that make you a fool, then? Or a liar?” she replied.
“You are not me.”
“Try me,” she said softly. She put her hands flat on the table between them. The strap of her gown fell off one shoulder, and she glanced at it. She sent the tendrils of her power to caress him, tried to pull him into her.
He arched an eyebrow. “You can take the entire dress off if you like, Zelani. You won’t get your claws into me.”
Her smile turned sour. “Is this how you honor your bargains?” she asked. She slipped the strap back onto her shoulder.
He grunted. “We have much to discuss,” he said. “If you are truly serious.”
“Do I seem frivolous?”
“Then you had best hope that Brophy is in some condition to fight. It took all of my brother’s powers and my strength to get us out of there. Victeris lasted six months in that hellhole. That is how strong he was.”
“I know all about your brother’s strengths.”
Krellis’s eyes flashed.
“Is six months a long time?” she asked, pleased to see the man squirm.
He smiled thinly. “Longer than anyone in ten generations.”
“And how many have escaped?”
“Just the two of us.”
“How?”
“What do you know of the Wet Cells?” Krellis asked.
“I’ve heard of them, just as everyone else.”
“Then listen, because you cannot know them by the rumors. The first King of Physendria knew that any lock could be picked and any guard could be bribed. So he made stone his jailors. He turned the ocean into his executioner.”
“The prisoners are locked in cells that fill with water,” Shara said. “Everyone from Gildheld to the Opal Palace knows this.”
“No.” Krellis shook his head. “Not locked. Trapped. The Wet Cells are carved deep underneath the volcanic cliffs of Physen, deep enough to connect with the old lava tubes that roar with the tides of the Great Ocean. The cells are hacked out of this jagged rock. There are no locks. The prisoners are thrown into the cell and caged by an iron grate with no hinges, no winches, no mechanism to raise it. The grates were forged directly into slots carved in the rock, and the only way to open one is to lift it straight up, a feat that requires at least ten men.”
“How many guards are in the cells?”
“Two.” Krellis leaned back in his chair, and it creaked under his weight. She stared back at him, cold and impassive.
“What about the inside of the cells?” she asked.
“A torture device. There are no public executions in Physendria. Any mention of the Wet Cells causes more fear than a dozen headsmen. The Wet Cells are a death sentence. They are a cold, damp, and lonely place. Pitch-black. For the last few weeks, young Brophy has been sleeping on jagged volcanic rock. They’ll feed him twice a day, of course, but he’ll shit where he sleeps. His lullaby will be the ravenous roaring of the ocean in the empty lava tubes.”
Shara tried to pry into his mind again and failed.
His bushy mustache twitched. “And that is the best time of day. That’s low tide. As the tide rises, the sea will seep into his cell through the endless warren of tiny pockets and gaps in the volcanic rock. At first, the waves will simply lap against his feet, cooling his fever perhaps, washing away his filth. But as the tide grows higher, the waves will rush in and out of his cell, battering him into a mind-numbing exhaustion until the cell is completely filled with water. If Brophy wants to live, he’ll have to climb to the top of the bars and reach the tiny pocket of air that remains between waves, gulping breaths whenever he can.”
“But he can survive?”
“There is enough air. King Phy wanted to wear his prisoners down, break them completely. At some point, the mind or the body will give out, battered by the tides or despair. But until then, there will always be just enough food. Just enough air.”
Shara clenched her teeth, wishing Krellis were floating in that prison.
“He was brilliant, our Phy I,” Krellis said.
“A fiend.”
“Yes. Unlike a woman who twists a man’s desire until he is a slave to her will.”
Shara smiled and leaned forward onto the table, giving him a better look at what he was already staring at. “What else?” she asked.
Krellis flexed his fingers, popping the knuckles in his fist. “The only entrance to the Wet Cells is in the center of Physen’s main barracks.”
“Why not go in that way?” she asked.
“Why not lift the Water Wall and walk underneath?” Krellis narrowed his eyes. “Even a Zelani could not do it. The door to the prison is called the Giant’s Tooth, a massive thing made of nine tree trunks, each over three feet wide and a hundred feet tall, lashed together with iron bands. It weighs tons. Not even fifty men could budge it, but the ocean can. When the tide is high, the door floats. It is forced against the top of the doorway like a portcullis in reverse by the unstoppable pressure of the ocean. When the tide is at its very lowest, the door sinks, opening briefly between the waves. A quick man can roll through the gap before the Tooth crushes him. Every few years a careless guard gets eaten by the Tooth.”
“What a shame.”
“Isn’t it?” Krellis leaned back in his chair again. “Every twelve hours, the Tooth starts chomping. For about two minutes. The entrance is set into one wall of a sunken courtyard where Physendrian troops gather for inspection. There are always hundreds of soldiers standing at the entrance when the Tooth opens. Two guards roll out of the darkness and two more roll in. It’s always two, unless they send in a crew with a new prisoner or to bring out a body.” He paused. “Still want to enter that way? Can you enchant hundreds of soldiers at the same time?”
Shara said nothing.
“So, you can either burrow through solid stone, chop through a three-foot-thick wooden door, or overcome hundreds of men and roll through the door when it is open.”
“Or?”
“Or you can do it my way.”
“Then tell me.”
“Then listen,” he had said. “Listen to every detail, because one blunder means death…”
Shara let the memory fade and bobbed in the water, scanning the dark base of the cliff for the landmark. Her suspicions trickled back. If Krellis wanted Brophy dead, why would he tell her the truth? Wouldn’t it be better to lie to her? He could rid himself of two enemies and avenge Victeris in one swift stroke. All it would take was one bit of misleading information.
The last thing she asked Krellis before leaving Ohndarien was why he agreed to help her rescue Brophy.
The Brother of Autumn shrugged. “Because Baelandra a
sked me to.”
“She also asked you not to exile him in the first place.”
“I’ve had a change of heart. I’m sure that’s something a woman like you can understand.”
Shara hadn’t believed him at the time, and she still wasn’t sure she believed him, but she had no other options. It she wanted to take Brophy back, this was the only way to get him.
The underground cave was her first challenge. Holding her breath and fighting the surf, she must swim through a submerged tunnel blinded by the dark and dragged down by the weight of the iron she carried. The end of the porous lava tube held a pocket of air during low tide, and that was only halfway to the Wet Cells.
Shara spotted Krellis’s landmark, dark against the shadowy cliffs.
“If you come in from the southwest,” he had said, “swim toward the tallest freestanding outcropping. There is a natural indentation over the place where you’ll have to dive. It looks roughly like a pyramid.”
And there it was, just as he’d described, covered with barnacles. Her heart beat faster. He’d told the truth about that, at least. Of course that wasn’t a lie that would kill her.
She began her breathing and cycled through the five gates, gathering her power. As she did, she remembered the five rites of initiation she had performed on that first night after besting Victeris. The pools below the Zelani school sang with magic as her former master crawled through his own shit in the tower above. Caleb had been inside her, then Teras, Baksin, Bashtin, and Zale. She imagined their hands on her body, their breath matched with hers, their eyes open and trusting as she filled them with more power than they could possibly imagine.
She had hoped for a glorious union with Caleb, but something had changed between them. In the end, it had just been business. A sweet, powerful business, but with none of the romantic allure she once imagined. It was no matter. Her life was different now. Romance paled next to the magic. She was no longer the foolish girl who had let Victeris dominate her.
Her thoughts stoked the fire within her body. Over the past weeks, Shara could slip into desire as easily as a dress. She felt her own mind, swirling with the knowledge of her task, filled with thoughts of Brophy and the rituals with her fellow Zelani. She felt the depth of the ocean, indifferent and hungry. It pulled at her. She added her determination to the spell. She added her distrust of Krellis, her hatred of Victeris, her desire for Brophy. She added it all.
Shara drew the knife attached to her roped bundle and cut the plank free. The bag of iron sagged slowly in the water, reached the end of its tether and pulled insistently against her waist.
Shara took several deep breaths and stroked to where the waves crashed against the bottom of the pyramid. With one last deep breath, she dove. The rope tugged at her. The salt water stung her chafed waist, but she swam deeper and deeper, following the load until she reached the bottom.
The mouth of the cave was right where Krellis said it would be, and she stroked closer. The bag of iron dragged behind her. A surge of water carried her into the tunnel, propelling her forward. She bounced off jagged rocks as she went, taking the wounds and swimming onward. A few cuts meant nothing if she couldn’t find the pocket of air at the end of the tube and get her next breath.
The water changed direction and Shara clung to a jagged outcropping to keep from being sucked backward. In moments the next wave came, and she was hurled forward once again.
Zelani had incredible control over their breath, but as she continued into the blackness, fears gnawed at her. Memories of her own initiation came to her, the underwater swim, the betrayal at the far side.
What if Krellis lied, sending her into a dead end? What if there was a branch in the tunnel that he never explored? What if she had already taken it and was swimming deeper and deeper to her eventual death?
Feeling light-headed, Shara swam onward. The rope pulled taut, stopping her. She yanked frantically. It wouldn’t budge. Her chest spasmed, trying to draw breath, but she fought it and swam down, hand over hand on the rope. She found the bag wedged into a nook and wrestled it free. Her lungs burned, but she slung the weight over her shoulder and held the rope with her teeth.
She swam farther and went up, hit her head. Nothing. No escape. She swam forward another few feet and tried again. Her arms were lead, but she pushed against the water, against the weight of her anchor, swimming forward, ever forward.
Another surge of the tide threw her onto the jagged floor of the lava tube. The water receded and she could suddenly breathe. Clinging to the rocks, she sucked in a desperate breath around the rope in her mouth. She spat it out and drew another breath, deeper and longer. The next wave came in and threw her forward again, rolling her across the rough ground.
Shara clung to the side of the tunnel as the wave receded, refusing to be pulled backward again. She hauled the bag out of the surf and set it on a shelf.
Bracing herself in absolute darkness with water up to her thighs, she fought the tide as she gasped for air. The water grew shallow as the floor inclined upward. Soon she was able to lie down for a moment beyond the hungry pull of the sea. Krellis had led her true.
So far.
When she felt ready, Shara sat up and pulled the bag to her, hand over hand in the darkness. The ropes were rough and frayed in places where they had scraped against the sides of the tunnel.
She cut the lines away with the knife, and opened the bag. Withdrawing two round stones, she smacked them together. A spark lit the darkness for an instant, and she squinted. The sharp smell of sulfur from the rocks seemed out of place so close to the ocean. She clacked the fire stones again. Another spark gave her a brief vision of what the cave looked like. With repeated clacks, she created enough light to see the opening to the next leg of her journey.
She was in a jagged tunnel about five or six feet across. Dozens of smaller tunnels, only a foot or two wide, branched off in every direction. Most of them went nowhere. Krellis said he’d had to come back to this cave seven times before he found a path to the Wet Cells. He could only search for a few hours before the rising tide forced him back outside.
He had spent six days returning to this cave, crawling over jagged stone, constantly stung and battered by seawater, never completely certain he would get through. He used a hammer and chisel to break through a few tight spots.
She couldn’t imagine it, especially for a man like Victeris. What would possess Krellis to go through such a nightmare to rescue that demon?
If Krellis had spoken true about the markers to the Wet Cells, she should be able to get through in time. But this cave would completely fill with water by high tide. This brief gap of air only lasted two hours of each cycle. She had timed her midnight swim as carefully as possible, but she could only count on a little more than an hour before the tide surged in behind her, trapping her in a watery death.
After clacking the rocks several times in front of Krellis’s old scratch marks, she opened the bag and withdrew the leather gloves and a pair of leather pads for her knees. She had cursed this bag for its bulk many times in the ocean and the tunnel, but now she wished she had a leather helm, shirt, and pants as well.
She crawled into the tunnel, pushing the bag in front of her, and clacking the stones together for brief flashes of light. Sometimes the passage was tall enough that she could crouch and waddle forward. Sometimes it became so narrow that she pulled herself painfully through, scraping her belly, breasts, and legs. How could someone as large as Krellis have made it?
She found out how moments later when she ran into a dead end. Krellis had not come this way.
With infuriating slowness, she backed down the tunnel, taking more time to clack the fire stones together and look carefully at what she had thought were Krellis’s scratches. She found her mistake and continued down the next passage.
She couldn’t be sure how long she spent in that timeless darkness, the volcanic rock biting at her skin, pulling at her hair, but the ocean roared constantly, reminding her t
hat it was coming for her.
When she felt the cool rush of water on her legs, Shara despaired, doubled her efforts to scramble forward. She was already past the point of no return. Her pocket of air was gone. If she didn’t continue, she would drown.
Shara came to another open area and clacked the rocks. Three forks in the tunnel. She looked closely at all of them. Two had scratch marks next to them and led straight up. She heard the water behind her surge forward and disappear. Which scratch marks should she choose? Why hadn’t the bastard told her about this? Was this his betrayal? Was this—?
A man’s voice echoed down the tunnel to her right.
Grinning, Shara leaned her head into the opening and strained her ears to make sure she hadn’t imagined it. Yes, it was there. The slow, deep tones of a man’s voice. Shara reached out with her magic, following the voice to its source. Yes. A man. Two men. Someone she didn’t recognize and…
Brophy! He was alive. Blessedly alive.
She pushed the bag up the tunnel, crawling only a short distance before it opened up slightly…
Into a rusted iron grate.
Shara clenched her teeth. Behind her, the ocean rushed and receded. She worked her fingers through the grate and pulled on it. It creaked but did not give. Someone must have discovered how Krellis had broken in and made certain no one followed after him. She sat back, heedless of the sharp stone biting into her skin. She rummaged in her bag. She could use the iron to—
No. Not that way.
Turning her attention forward, she closed her eyes and breathed. She only hoped the two guards holding Brophy were strong. She would need that strength.
The magic thrummed through her, and she reveled in it. Power surged through her like a black wave, and Shara began to sing.