by T. A. White
“Not for long if you don’t get this thing open.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Work faster.”
Shea dragged her foot across the stone, brushing away any debris that had accumulated over the years. The symbol itself was in pretty good shape, the white paint showing no sign of erosion or damage.
“Shea, you need to get this open.”
“I told you I’m working on it.”
She looked up. Trenton’s face was tilted away from her, but something very close to fear covered the part she could see.
“No, you need to get it open now. There’s a black cloud in the sky coming from the Badlands, and I’m pretty sure it’s not the kind filled with rain.”
Shea grumbled to herself. A bright flash of light near where Trenton crouched caught Shea’s attention.
“What’s that?” Shea pointed.
Trenton looked down, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim interior. His gaze went to where she was pointing. “It looks like a mirror or a glass of some sort.”
“Of course, that’s it.”
Fire. What was the sun but a massive ball of fire creating heat and light? Shea wasn’t really sure where the eye portion came from, but this place was built right around the cataclysm. There could have been all sorts of weird sayings or religions to explain the world falling apart.
“Trenton, I need you to climb down to that mirror and aim at the middle of the circle.”
“Do you see where that mirror is? How do you expect me to cling practically upside down and then move it? Not all of us are descended from spider people,” he shouted back.
“I need that light to get this entrance open. You’re the one that can see what’s coming; you tell me if it’s possible.”
There was a growl from above and then he threw a leg over the edge, lowering himself over the side. Shea hoped his arms weren’t spent during their impression of mountain goats earlier.
She bounced lightly on her feet as Trenton made his careful way down the side of the monolith he’d been crouched on and across to the mirror. Time was of the essence, and every second he took felt like grains of sand sliding through an hourglass—inevitably bringing doom closer with every breath.
“Come on, come on,” she muttered under her breath. She didn’t want to distract him or cause him to fall, but he was taking so long.
“I’m here. What do I do?” he asked, not looking back at her.
“You need the mirror to catch the light and shine it down here.”
He nodded and reached over to tilt the mirror to catch the sun that shined down at an angle, the beam never touching the pillar on which Shea stood.
“It’s stuck,” Trenton grunted, wrestling with the mirror. He moved over, finding grips in the rock face for his hands and using a leg to kick at the mirror.
“We need that mirror, so don’t break it,” Shea warned.
“I’ve almost got it. Almost there.” With one last kick, the mirror turned with a screech to rival the eagles’ cries.
It glittered as the sun caught it, rotating and reflecting down into the crevasse. Its beam dragged across the rock, closer and closer to where Shea stood.
“There! Keep it right there.” It was pointed directly at the middle of the circle. Shea saw why they’d called it the eye of fire in the story. From this angle, with the mirror reflecting the light it looked like an eye had caught fire.
“Time for my part,” she said in a soft voice. She pulled out a knife and looked at her hand.
“Shea, what are you doing?” Trenton asked in a calm voice. He’d paused in his descent when Shea withdrew the knife.
“It needs sun and blood to work. Don’t worry; I know what I’m doing.” Sort of. She hoped.
“The Warlord is not going to be happy about this,” Trenton muttered.
He was right. Fallon was going to be very upset if he got in here and found Shea bleeding, even if it was from a self-inflicted wound. That was to say, if he survived the eagles and whatever black cloud Trenton had spotted.
She set the knife against the palm of her left hand. Hesitation stayed her hand. She moved the knife to her forearm. She might have need of her hands before this journey was through, and a cut on the palm was an absolute bitch to heal when you used it constantly. Not to mention painful.
“Here goes nothing.”
Shea drew the knife across her skin, biting down to keep the sound of pain inside. Cutting yourself on purpose was totally different than a wound you received while going about your life.
She knelt and held her arm over the eye. The story hadn’t said where the blood needed to fall, so she figured the eye was as good a place as any.
“Work.” She willed the thing. If it didn’t, she didn’t know what else to try.
For a long moment, the cavern was silent. Nothing happened. Then there was a rumble—one that was felt more than heard. The ground under her started to shake.
Trenton cried out as the wall he’d been descending started moving. He lost his grip and tumbled off, missing the monolith Shea stood on and falling to the ground below.
“Trenton!” Shea cried, throwing herself to her knees on the side of the platform. The area he had fallen was shadowed, and she couldn’t see his form to know if he was alright. That was all the attention she could spare for him as the rock around her began to move. She clung to her perch as it shook and quaked.
Perhaps this hadn’t been her best idea.
Rock and dust cascaded from above, the monoliths closing in on each other and sealing out the sun, leaving Shea alone and in darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE EAGLE swooped for another pass. Fallon leaned close to his horse, its legs pumping as it ran for all its worth. The eagle grew larger and larger, falling from the sky faster than anything Fallon had ever seen. At the last second its wings snapped out, catching the wind as it sailed over Fallon’s head.
Fallon reined in his horse, slowing its gallop and watching as the eagle bypassed his men and headed to the cliffs. It was joined by a second eagle, both preoccupied by something tucked away and out of sight.
Shea. They were going after Shea. She’d been climbing near there before they appeared. Fallon didn’t want to think a beast could be that smart—to bypass easy prey in favor of a much more difficult quarry—but he didn’t know how else to explain why the golden eagles were acting so counter to their nature.
He saw Reece up ahead, looking at the eagles the same way Fallon had.
“Could this beast call be the cause of this?” Fallon shouted, reining his horse to a stop next to the pathfinder.
Although there were plenty of mounts with each of his men bringing four to enable them to switch off when their first mount got tired, Fallon had not given Reece one. He’d wanted the other man tired and irritated from the journey.
Reece looked lost as he stared at the eagles as they pecked at something in the rocks. Fallon took heart, seeing their continued preoccupation as a sign that they’d been unsuccessful in their hunt.
“I don’t know,” Reece finally said. “I’ve never seen them act like this. It’s against their nature.”
“So, it’s the beast call.”
He shook his head. “A call shouldn’t be able to control them. Its sole purpose is to summon a beast. It doesn’t pick the beast and certainly doesn’t guide its actions.”
Fallon thought they needed to revisit that assumption. What he was seeing contradicted that statement. It was the only explanation.
“We need to get those eagles away from the cliffs.” The words ‘and Shea’ went unspoken. To the men who still stood guard over the pathfinder, Fallon said, “Put him on a horse and get him to the cliffs.”
There would be some protection afforded by tucking in close to the cliffs. For a short time at least.
Fallon let out a war cry, summoning his men as he galloped towards Shea. Half of his army was still strung out along the cliff, looking for the entrance
that Fallon was half convinced didn’t exist. Those that heard him galloped towards him, forming a wave around him, Fallon at the tip of the spear. He slowed the gallop. They needed to distract those birds.
In the distance, Braden had formed the men that couldn’t answer Fallon’s call, creating a square, archers inside, spearmen on the outside. The men fell into line easily, having practiced the movement several times during the journey to Bearan’s Fault. They’d learned from the first attack. The golden eagles would not find them such easy prey this time.
“What’s your order?” Caden shouted next to him.
“Have Braden’s men harry the eagles. The rest ride with me.”
Fallon whistled and the men around him broke off, following him without question or doubt as he rode back out onto the wide-open plains. The cliffs receded behind them, but not quickly enough for what Fallon had planned.
They were bait. Harrying the eagles would only do so much. Moving bait would pull them off their victim.
A bugle sounded behind them. It was the signal Fallon had been waiting for. He let out another cry and the ranks split, groups breaking off to form a large square, spearmen on the outside edge and archers on the inner edge of the square.
Fallon took a position inside the square on the side where the eagles would attack. He shouted his order. “Archers to the ready.”
His men reached for their bows.
“Nock arrows.”
Only the sound of heavy breathing and horses shifting was heard.
“Hold.”
The eagles grew in size until Fallon could count the spots on one.
“Draw.”
That was close enough.
“Loose arrows.”
The arrows released with a series of twangs. In a smooth movement, his archers knocked their next arrow and drew back their strings.
“Loose.”
Another volley of arrows flew.
One eagle screeched and pulled back, the powerful beat of its wings taking it higher into the air. Its companion kept coming, attempting to snatch a man off the line. Fallon was there with spear in hand, jabbing up into its stomach. Other spearmen joined him, some glancing off its protective feathers, a few finding their mark.
It peeled off to join its companion in the air. Together they circled.
“Archers!” Fallon shouted. Bows lifted. “Loose.”
A storm of arrows sailed toward the eagles. They swooped and dived to avoid the worst of it.
“Loose.”
The eagles beat their wings and climbed.
Thunder sounded from the cliffs and the ground shook. Such a loud noise that Fallon was half convinced the world was about to meet its end as the horses tossed their heads as their eyes rolled.
They were too well-trained to rear and toss their rider, but they pranced in place. Eagles didn’t concern them, but the ground moving under their feet was enough to upset years of training.
“Look,” one of Fallon’s men shouted. To Fallon’s eyes he looked not much older than a boy. He was familiar. Fallon thought this might be one of the men Shea was friends with.
A small opening appeared in the cliffs. One not visible before.
“She did it,” Buck shouted.
Of course, she did. If anybody could, it was Shea. In the nick of time too.
“One hundred meter sprints,” Fallon said. “On the next pass.”
There was a chorus of battle cries acknowledging his command.
The eagles passed over head, shying away from the volley of arrows the archers sent in their direction.
“Now.”
The lines broke as the horses thundered back toward the cliffs and the safety they now represented.
They reached their hundred meters, the horses wheeling to form the same square they had before. Archers on the inside, spearmen on the outside so their backs could be protected.
The eagles separated in mid-air, one swooping in from the left while the other angled to attack from the right. Fallon remained focused on the closest, concentrating on shouting commands and trusting that one of his commanders would take care of the other side.
Eamon shouted, “Loose,” a beat before Fallon.
There was a cry as one of the eagles closed its talons around a man, trying to drag him from his saddle. The spearmen next to him closed ranks, thrusting with their spears. An arrow found its way into its eye, the boy Shea had befriended giving a triumphant shout.
Its talons opened, dropping its victim. The man fell to the ground, blood gushing from a stomach wound as the eagle climbed into his sky above him.
“Get him back on his horse,” Fallon ordered. “We move now.”
Two of Fallon’s soldiers threw the injured man onto his horse before leaping onto their own. The group took off at a gallop.
“Fallon, look,” Eamon shouted, pointing to the west and the Badlands.
“I see it.” Fallon’s face was grim as he bent closer to his horse and flicked his reins, trying to summon more speed.
A black cloud—moving in an unnatural way as it changed direction and speed against the wind—was heading in their direction. Fast. It was close, much too close. The eagles had distracted them from the danger amassing in the distance.
Eamon turned, calling over his shoulder. “Ride! Ride as if the hounds of the underworld are nipping at your heels.”
The cavern entrance was close now, looming larger with every hoof beat. Fallon didn’t dare call his men to stop to face the eagles bearing down, knowing that if they did, that black mass would be on them.
He just bent lower and let his mount have its head, trusting that it would make it.
He could hear the beat of wings on the air, coming ever closer. Feel the air on the back of his neck from those wings.
Braden stood at the head of several lines of men that had formed on either side of the entrance. Fallon met his eyes as he charged closer.
Braden’s mouth moved, shaping a word. “Loose arrows.”
Arrows flew once again. Aimed at the sky and the creatures bearing down on them.
Then he was past, his horse plunging into darkness. His men followed close behind.
*
A cough echoed around Shea.
“Trenton, are you alive?” she asked. She didn’t dare move, unsure of how much room she still had on her perch.
“Barely.”
She let out a sigh of relief. As much as the man was a pain for his insistence on shadowing her even when she felt it unnecessary, she would have missed him if he’d died.
“How badly are you hurt?” she asked.
A groan echoed up to her. “Battered and bruised, but otherwise okay.”
Shea debated whether to trust that assessment, knowing he’d probably say the same thing even on his deathbed. “Nothing broken?”
It would have taken a miracle for him to have survived that fall without a broken bone or two.
“I’ll be fine.”
In other words, yes, but he didn’t want to admit it.
“I’m coming down to you,” Shea said.
Her eyes began to adjust to the dim light. There must be an opening somewhere. True darkness in a cave is a black so deep and pervasive, that even the best eyes in the world wouldn’t be able to see a hand in front of their face. No light meant no sight. Since Shea could see, dim though it was, it meant light was filtering through.
She slung her leg over the edge and carefully felt her way down. It was slow going and left her muscles clenched at the anticipation that the next grip would be her last.
“Almost there,” Trenton said as Shea inched her way down. “Few more feet.”
His voice sounded close. Shea descended until one foot touched the ground. She turned to find Trenton propped against a wall. He looked terrible, cuts and bruises on his face, one hand clasped against his ribs.
She knelt beside him, looking him over. The way he held his arm to the side of his body and kept his breaths light and shallow made her su
spect he had broken, or at least cracked, a few ribs. Not surprising given the height he’d fallen from.
“I’m fine, Shea.”
She ignored his words. “Can you move your arms?”
She gave him a serious look that said she wasn’t moving from this spot until he humored her. He rolled his eyes but moved each arm, demonstrating that they were working.
“What about your legs?”
He shifted, bending one leg then the other.
At least that was something. It didn’t mean he hadn’t cracked a bone, but he should be able to walk out of here at least. The more pressing concern was internal bleeding. For now, he was mobile, which was good because carrying him out of here would be very difficult. Not impossible, but it would probably take everything in her to accomplish it.
“Do you think they found the entrance?” Trenton asked.
“I hope so.”
Neither one wanted to think what would happen if they hadn’t.
Trenton looked up to where the sky used to be. “I don’t think we’re going to be able to climb out the way we came.”
Shea agreed. “I don’t think you’ll be climbing anywhere in the shape you’re in.”
His chuckle cut off in a wheeze of pain. “Somehow I think you’re right.”
She eyed him with worry. She didn’t know if she’d be able to carry him out of here and leaving him behind wasn’t a choice.
Trenton understood what she didn’t say. “You should go on without me. You’ll move faster.”
“That’s not happening.”
“You’re letting sentiment cloud your judgment. You and I both know we won’t make it out of here if you wait on me. Go, find the others and then come back for me.”
“I do that and there’s no guarantee I’ll find my way back. For all you know, this place is a maze.”
“It’s a risk you have to take.” He looked up at her, his eyes fogged with pain.
Shea met his gaze with a steely one of her own. She wasn’t leaving him behind.
“Did I ever tell you about the oath all pathfinders have to make once they pass their ceremony?”
He shut his eyes and huffed. “You rarely talk about that part of your life and then only with Fallon.”