by Sam Hawke
“Did you bring a lantern?” I stretched with my free hand until I found the tunnel wall. I shuffled toward her, trying to ignore the feel of slimy water—at least, I needed to imagine it as water—encasing my feet up to the ankles.
“Yes, but there is no need yet,” she said. Reaching up past me, she pulled a rope I’d not even noticed, and the grill above us settled back into place. “It is not far. Come.”
She strode forward, feet sloshing, as though she could see in the dark. Clumsy, I stumbled along a bit behind her, trying to imagine what we might find. Had Eliska somehow been using the sewers to sabotage the stability of the walls in the old city? With the bulk of the rebel force in the lower city, we’d lessened our watchfulness on the north and south walls as they had stopped attacking them. Had they been weakening from below without us knowing?
We stopped a short distance away. Hadrea dropped to a crouch, apparently unbothered by the mess it must be making of her skirts. “I almost missed this,” she said. “I’d been following them, guided by the sound of footsteps, and then heard a clunk; suddenly, no more steps. I rounded this bend and there was nothing, no one left to follow. So I trawled about until I found this.”
She tugged at my hand and I crouched, tentative, as she guided our hands into the slime. My groping fingers found a heavy metal ring. Another entrance? To where?
The ring opened a wide hatch in the floor of the tunnel. Water splashed down from our level below, and this time Hadrea swung easily into the opening and paused there.
“A ladder,” I said, beginning to understand where we were going.
We’d speculated that tunnels under the lower city might mean similar ones existed on this side of the lake. But the Council had denied knowledge of such a thing, and we’d not been able to find records of any caves. I knew Hadrea had been looking for them; that was how she’d ruined her clothing and been forced into the Silastian dress that day. I tried not to think of that memory.
She climbed down first and I followed. The metal was good, built with non-corrosive orote, a slick, black metal used extensively in shipbuilding and plumbing. By the ladder was an alcove containing a tinderbox and lantern; Hadrea fumbled in the dark and then lit it, holding it aloft so we could look around.
“They met down here,” Hadrea said, voice echoing in the eerie space.
These tunnels, I could see, were old and solid, better even than the ones under the lower city. The air was damp and heavy, old, like it wasn’t quite suitable for breathing. Something scurried about outside the range of the lantern. It wasn’t that I was afraid of the dark. I had paced and counted the length of my rooms, Tain’s rooms, and most of the public spaces in Silasta so many times that my body knew their dimensions by feel and I could walk confidently without sight. But this was different. Untouched and unknown, the darkness here could hide anything. I shivered.
“I followed the light.” Hadrea gestured to a corridor at the other side of the cavern. Then a scraping sound above us made us both freeze.
With swift fingers she shut down her lamp and pulled me against the wall. “The lamp,” I whispered, and she fumbled around to find the little space to return it. Together we edged away from the ladder as another sound echoed above our heads. Footsteps. The sound of someone lifting the trapdoor. We risked a few more shuffles back to get out of the range of the lantern. Blood pounded in my ears, louder than the sound of the person descending. Hadrea pressed against me, her hair tickling my neck. Tension thrummed through her body as we squinted in the dark, waiting.
The figure disappeared into blackness as the door closed, but moments later the tinderbox clicked and then the lamp shed light over a woman—not Eliska—at the bottom of the ladder. We shrank back, but she only looked up at the ladder, apparently waiting.
Soon enough, the door opened again, and the woman’s face broke into a smile as another pair of legs swung down into the hole.
“Darling,” she said, and Eliska half-climbed, half-dropped the rest of the way down, squirming into the taller woman’s arms like a child.
“Has it only been a day?” Eliska murmured, burying her face in the other woman’s shoulder. I had to blink, watching her—she looked like a different person. Her hair, unbound from its usual tail, cascaded over her shoulders and her face looked softer, more feminine.
“I can’t stay long, my love,” the woman said.
“I know, it isn’t supposed to be every night,” Eliska replied. “I know it’s a risk. But we have to try. And don’t worry, I don’t think anyone suspects anything of the loyal Stone-Guilder.” Bitterness touched her words.
I’m glad you think so.
Together they walked in the direction away from where we hid. After the light bobbed away into the corridor, Hadrea and I slipped after them. She led the way, sure-footed. “They went in there last night,” she whispered, her voice so soft in my ear it was like I felt the words on her breath instead of hearing them.
The light turned a corner and then disappeared. It was an alcove with a solid door. Through a crack we saw the light; they had stopped moving. We hovered outside. Soon telltale noises crept through the door along with the flash of light. I avoided Hadrea’s face. “Is this what you saw last night?”
“Mm. Of course it is no crime, what they are doing. But Jovan, there is a shrine in there, a shrine to the great spirit of the lake. They are not merely enjoying each other, they are giving an offering. And asking a boon.”
The words pierced my chest like darts. Eliska was Darfri, but had hidden it from all of us—actively hidden it, masking her own beliefs with faked anti-Darfri sentiment in Council. And now here she was, in full ritual practice in caverns whose existence we had searched for in vain, trawling through record and cellar alike. All that time, she had known. “What boon are they asking for?” Anger swelled inside me, anger and a fierce desire to act. I’d had enough of lurking in the shadows. But as I reached out toward the door, Hadrea caught my arm.
“No,” she whispered. “We are not soldiers, Jovan. You do not know what these people might do if cornered.”
I let her lead me back across the corridor. We fumbled about in the dark until we came to the next alcove, and there we waited. My anger boiled still, though I knew she was right; we could just as easily have Eliska arrested with the help of Order Guards. In any case, so far, all I could prove Eliska guilty of was failing to share her knowledge of caves, and hiding her religion. As Hadrea said, there was no crime in a romantic relationship, nor with being Darfri, even in secret.
Not long after, the woman pushed open the door. “I can find the way,” she was saying as she left. “You keep the lamp.”
She strode off, confident, into the inky blackness. I thought how well I knew my apartment from all of my pacing and counting; sight didn’t matter if your body knew where to go. My guess was these caves were no new discovery to Eliska and her lover.
We heard the hatch clap shut.
Seized by the desire, once again, to stop lurking and do something, I took a breath and, dragging Hadrea behind me, stepped across the corridor and shoved the door open.
Eliska cried out. Half-dressed, her dress unbound and her hair disheveled, she was partway through retying her shoes, and she looked up at us in fear and shock as we burst in. One hand tried to gather her clothing around her, the other to block our view of the immense, elaborate shrine behind her.
“Don’t move, Eliska,” I said to her, my voice quivering with the anger bubbling up from within me. “Don’t you move a fucking muscle.”
Moonblossom
DESCRIPTION: Sunlight-sensitive vine with pale white flowers blooming only in low light (moonlight or heavily shaded areas). Small, glossy red berries are toxic.
SYMPTOMS: Stomach pain, nausea, diarrhea.
PROOFING CUES: Taste of berries is strongly sour and sharp.
24
Kalina
Until this desperate flight, until the nights lying huddled in inadequate shelter, I had neve
r properly appreciated the relentless power of Silasta’s famous winds. I tucked my legs closer to my chest, a pathetic ball, hair and clothes whipping about as I tried to sleep. Once, it seemed a lifetime ago, I’d loved the sound of the Maiso outside the walls. Now it was a curse.
The last few days were a haze of pain, sleep deprivation, and disorientation. I couldn’t remember how many days I had traveled. Four? Five? More? The more tired I’d become, the less I’d been able to feel; all of the energy poured into worrying about Jovan and grieving for Tain had long dissipated in the endless fields and hills and the glare from the sun. My worry and doubt in myself had disappeared along with it. It had made me bold.
I snuggled tighter, rubbing my back into the warm, shaggy fur of the sleeping graspad. The strong smell of the animal no longer bothered me. I’d stolen it two evenings ago with a fearlessness that would have stunned my brother. The Kalina who’d agonized over that first oku, and frozen like a frightened rabbit in the face of the old man, would not have recognized the woman who had stalked the quiet village of Casperwan and taken the feisty little graspad. Riding it had taken some practice and I had fallen several times, but I seemed to have the hang of it now.
Today had been good. I’d taken advantage of the big steady paws of my new companion and traversed a more direct route south, away from the road and over the rocky hills. It brought me closer to the mines, but also made it harder to orient myself, especially in the middle of the day when the sun’s position was of limited help. Alternating between walking and riding, I was traveling much faster than in those first few days.
I calculated that these were the Ash estates, but I couldn’t remember the estate house position relative to the mines. It would be too dangerous to risk getting close given that it was presumably held by the rebels. Days ago, in sight of the road, dust clouds had alerted me to someone passing, and sometimes there had been signs of small groups in the distance, but the hills and fields lay bare and deserted.
Maybe I’ll never see anyone ever again. I might die out here.
It was the kind of morose thought Jovan might have in one of his moods, and the melodrama of it gave me some weary amusement. My brother would have pictured his own demise in excruciating detail, but luckily I lacked both his intense focus and his imagination for inventing terrible scenarios with which to torture myself. Frequent tributary streams heading down to the river meant I was never far from water. There was no food left, but the Ash estates were kori country so there would be korberries soon, if nothing else. And I had made it this far. I tried to ignore the biting wind and relax. How could my body be so bone weary yet still resist sleep?
But I must have slept, because when I opened my eyes, there was someone standing over me. Too tired to even startle, I blinked up at the dark shape: a dream? When I rubbed my eyes the figure stayed there and as I tried to sit up a spear shaft dug into my side.
“Wake up.” A shuttered lantern burst into light, revealing a man and a woman in army uniforms, their faces shielded behind conical leather helmets.
Relief made me laugh, though it came out a coarse choke. They stared at me, suspicion glittering in their eyes; I tried to stop but couldn’t. The graspad awoke and swiveled its elegant neck.
“Who are you?” the woman asked, prodding me with the spear.
“What’s wrong with her?” The man waved the lantern over me and clucked his tongue. “It’s a woman. A Sjon.” He squatted beside me and removed his helmet. “Are you all right?”
The woman moved the spear back, but kept it in hand, less trusting than her colleague. I tried to catch my breath and explain, but couldn’t stop making the noise, or even tell if I was laughing or crying. Scouts, they must be scouts. I’ve made it.
“Aven,” I managed to say between gasps. “I’ve come to tell … help … we need help.”
“Who needs help?” the man asked. “What’s your name?”
“Credola Kalina,” I said. He whistled, looking to my covered upper arms. I pushed the fabric up, exposing my Family tattoo. “Please, I have to see the Warrior-Guilder.”
He helped me to my feet. “Can you ride?” he asked. “We’re a fair ways from the camp.”
I nodded, my breathing finally stabilizing.
“All right, Credola,” said the soldier. “You can tell me all about what you need as we ride.”
My sleepy graspad gave a grunt of protest as I clambered on its back and wove my fingers through its long, knotted fur. The scouts had their own graspads, bigger than mine and better groomed, and they steered theirs with neat leather harnesses where I had just been directing my beast by tugging on the fur beneath its huge ears.
I’d done it. I’d found the army.
I let my head rest on the graspad’s neck, and felt my body relax for the first time in days.
* * *
I woke in a tent, surrounded by purple-and-red striped fabric. I tried to stand, but dizziness forced me down again. I still wore my mismatched traveling clothes, but someone had given me a blanket. A plate of food lay beside the cushions: a leg of something—bindie?—a round of flat bread, and a small bowl of smoked vegetable paste. And tea in a metal cup.
I gulped some warm tea first, then hunger grabbed me and I was halfway through the glorious greasy meat before I became conscious of it and slowed my chewing. I needed to speak to Aven. But, oh, honor-down, I was so hungry.…
I ate the rest of the meat and a few mouthfuls of bread dunked in the paste, fighting not to eat too quickly and get sick. I finished the tea then, fighting the wooziness, and got to my feet, remaining bread in hand.
“Hello?” I called out, stepping to the tent flap.
The scout who had found me stuck his head in. He had a wide, pockmarked face with heavy laugh lines around the mouth and eyes, and a long crooked nose.
“You’re awake,” he said with a warm smile. “Here, sit. Finish your food. You must be hungry.”
“Starving. I came from Silasta, and ran out of food a few days ago.” Through a mouthful of bread, I added, “I’m sorry, but I need to speak to the Warrior-Guilder, urgently.”
“You fell off your mount pretty hard, and you didn’t rouse when we tried. Warrior-Guilder Aven told us to put you in here and get you some rest and food, and to tell her when you stirred. I’ll send someone to let her know you’re awake, if you stay and finish that.”
I nodded. While he ducked back outside the tent, I secured another mouthful of delicious salty cheese.
He returned shortly, bearing a kettle of tea and more food. “You said you needed help,” he said, frowning. “What’s happened? Why do you need the Warrior-Guilder?”
“As far as I’m aware, messages for the Warrior-Guilder come to me, soldier, not you,” a dry, raspy voice interrupted. Through the tent flaps ducked a tall, muscular woman in a military tunic and riding trousers. A snarled black plait snaked over her shoulder, and her arms bore both the Reed Family tattoos and the knife sigil of the Warrior-Guilder. “Unless you’ve had a promotion I’ve not heard about?”
The soldier scrambled to his feet, head bowed. “Apologies, Warrior-Guilder. I was just trying to get some food into her. She’s half-starved.”
Aven looked me over with a raised eyebrow. “So I see.” I hastily swallowed my mouthful, feeling soft and plump and self-conscious under her hard gaze. “You can go, soldier.” The man scurried out without a backward glance, and the Warrior-Guilder took his place, cross-legged on the floor in front of me with a rod-straight spine and a measuring look. Though I had seen her before, at the occasional demonstration or social event, we had never met, and I doubted she recalled my existence at all. “Now, little bird. What brings you to my camp in such a state?”
“Warrior-Guilder,” I said, “you have to ready the army. Silasta’s under siege.”
Aven started to laugh, then frowned. “Siege? What do you mean?”
“There’s been an uprising on the estates,” I said. “Honor-down, I know this must sound insane. We�
��ve tried to get word to you for weeks, but they have us penned in. I don’t know what’s happened to the other cities. The Chancellor is dead, Credola, and”—my voice cracked a little—“the Heir too, the new Chancellor, Tain. They were both poisoned.”
Aven’s face grew still and her gaze narrow. “An uprising? The Chancellor murdered? I hardly think this would be the first we’d hear of it, if so. Is this some trick of the Doranites, to have us abandon the south? We’ve beaten them decisively.” She leaned in, dark eyes glittering, menace emanating from her like a force. “You’re not the first spy we’ve had at this camp.”
I shook my head and blinked hard as tears of exhaustion and frustration built. “No. No, it’s all true. Honor-down, I wish it were otherwise. But the estates really have risen against us. The Chancellor was poisoned and they marched on Silasta during the funeral. They killed our birds and then our messengers when we sent for help. We tried as best we could to hold the city but we had barely two dozen Order Guards and they built siege weapons. We collapsed Bell’s Bridge and retreated to the upper city less than two weeks ago. We still held Trickster’s and the Finger when I left, but we don’t have long.”
The Warrior-Guilder leaned in closer. She looked me over, her gaze merciless as a razor. “What’s your name, little bird? I know your face.”
“Credola Kalina. I’m Credo Etan’s niece.” This time the tears did break free, and I looked down at her hands, my voice dropping to a whisper. “He’s dead, too.”
Aven lifted my chin with a surprisingly gentle hand. “Honor-down. How did you get out of the city? And why send you as a messenger? Forgive me, but you don’t seem an obvious choice.”
Again, I shrank back into my own body a little, even though she was painfully correct. “I swam under the gate,” I said. “They didn’t send me. I just … The Chancellor wouldn’t send any more messengers. The first lot, the rebels caught them and … and desecrated the corpses, terribly. Tai—the Chancellor, he wouldn’t risk it happening again. Then he was poisoned, and I just didn’t think we would last much longer if someone didn’t find you.”