“’urry up, Etana!” Sherwin yelled from outside.
Rafen could feel his heart pounding against the mossy floor of the tunnel as he moved ahead. His brother, Sherwin, and Fritz were still out there.
The area before him became tighter still, and it was a fight to push himself forward. He forced himself to extend his vision again. He had been right; the tunnel was long, and the lighter patch of darkness that differentiated it from the shadows stretched on and on through the stone wall until it reached a series of caverns and opened up.
But that might be an hour away.
“Are you all right, Etana?” he asked.
“Oh, Rafen,” she groaned. “Please tell me this won’t last long.”
“Etana, we may be like this for a while,” Rafen said gently. “Hold onto my ankles and don’t worry. That will help you and the baby most.”
“What do you mean, a while, Rafen?”
Rafen could tell from her tone that she was having difficulty breathing. He recalled watching new children in the mines suffer the same agonies when they first entered confined spaces. He forced himself to inhale deeply and focus; his worrying wouldn’t help her.
“Zion is with us, Etana,” he said, despite the Nazt that crowded his head. “Zion can fit in here.”
Etana forced herself a few inches forward.
“That’s it, Etana,” Rafen said. “Listen to my voice, okay? You’re going to be fine. Is Sherwin in yet?”
“Sherwin is at the back,” Francisco’s stifled voice said from somewhere.
“Is he in?” Rafen said.
“Jus’,” Sherwin grunted from even further off. “Blimey, it better not get much smaller. I ’ate to think what will happen if a Naztwai or somethin’ decides to follow us. We can’t exactly run.”
“It will merely stick fast,” Fritz said from between Sherwin and Francisco.
“An’ be the cork that bottles us in ’ere,” Sherwin added optimis-
tically.
Etana choked.
“Sherwin, shut up,” Rafen said. “We’re going to be fine.”
He scrabbled forward on his belly. The circumference of the tunnel was particularly tight around his shoulders at this point, and it required some skilled maneuvering to progress. It didn’t help to remember everyone else in their party was taller than him, and all were broader, barring Etana.
“Etana, you will have to turn slightly on your side soon,” Rafen said to her.
The scuffling of Etana’s exertions was the only response.
“Etana?” Rafen said, his voice a fraction higher.
“Yes?” she said hoarsely.
“Keep breathing. Always answer me.”
“I will,” she panted.
“Remember you’ve done tougher than this,” he told her, “when you healed me from the Soul Breaker’s Curse.”
“I only suffered for you then, not as you. It didn’t feel entirely real to me.”
“What do you mean?”
“That was your nightmare,” she whispered. “This is mine.”
Rafen fell silent, digesting her words. How she could find this worse than the aftermath of the Soul Breaker’s Curse baffled him.
“’ang on,” Sherwin said, “I think this is gettin’ smaller.”
“You are at the back, comrade,” Francisco said. “You know nothing about smaller yet.”
“Isn’ there some kesmal yer can do for this sort o’ thing, Fritz?” Sherwin asked.
Normally Fritz was indignant when Sherwin called him by his first name. It showed how out of countenance he was that he let it pass now.
“There is,” he grunted. “I could blast the tunnel open, and we would be crushed by falling rocks.”
“Nice,” Sherwin said sarcastically. “I meant somethin’ like jus’ widenin’ the tunnel fractionally.”
“Two problems,” Fritz said amid the scratches and thumps of his constrained movements. “I scarcely have space to do kesmal. And I’ve tried. Something in the atmosphere resists it fiercely… moisture or enchantment.”
“Well, tha’s great news.”
“Keep quiet, Sherwin,” Francisco said.
“Oh, Rafen!” Etana screeched. “It keeps getting smaller!”
“It opens up after that bit, Etana.”
Rafen drew himself forward, caterpillar-like. Etana was still clutching his ankles, and she was dragged onward gently.
“Curse this,” Francisco panted. “I cannot even breathe. I wish I were a small woman.”
“Seein’ as yeh’re ’alfway there with voice and temperament, it’s not a bad ol’ wish,” Sherwin said from the back.
“Shut up, Sherwin!” Francisco said shrilly. He squeezed through the part Etana had recently passed.
“Stop bickering,” Fritz said.
“Etana?” Rafen said, feeling around the dripping limestone with his fingers as he slithered on. He had a feeling the ceiling above him was a little higher; he raised his head and struck it violently by mistake. He had been wrong after all.
“Yes,” Etana said tensely.
“You’re doing fine,” Rafen said, though at the sound of her voice, he wished he could take her in his arms. He was starting to feel horribly hot in his balaclava, gloves, and cloak, which was now twisted around his torso, and wished he had thought to remove them before entering the tunnel. He wondered who had the food pack. Sherwin had had it last, and whatever was within it was likely crushed by this time. To make things worse, the air around them was putrid, sulphurous. He coughed.
He remembered these experiences from the mines. The very best thing had been to move as economically as possible, without thrashing movements.
A loud oath behind caused him to freeze, his hands shaking. Then he realized it was Fritz’s voice he had heard.
Sherwin made a disapproving noise. “Was tha’ the king I ’eard swearin’?”
“Sherwin, shove me,” Fritz commanded.
“Blimey, I dunno if I can even reach ahead of meself in this place. Are yer stuck? I guess there’s no ’ope for me then.”
“I am more muscular than you,” Fritz said through clenched teeth.
Sherwin laughed. “Well, it’s not a competition in this ’ere place.”
It required a great deal to get Fritz free, and Rafen doubted the king had ever felt less dignified. Etana kept begging Rafen to tell her it was going to end soon, and they were going to get out. He wished he could have reassured her of that, but even in the darkness, he could not lie to her.
Minute by minute, they toiled on. Every moment, Rafen expected the tunnel to cave in – an old fear from his mining days, when the carts had rumbled overhead like an earthquake. This time, he was afraid it would cave in because of a kesmalic attack. Worse still, he kept searching the spirits in his vision for a sign of the Lashki. If the Lashki found them down here, they were ruined. Because he could take on spirit form, he could attack when they couldn’t fight back. The enchantments preventing kesmal likely had no influence on him or his followers.
At long last, after what felt like days underground – yet was probably only an hour – Rafen slid forward into an area that felt more open. The air instantly became cleaner and less suffocating. He dared to swing a hand around himself and discovered he could wave it freely. He was no longer encapsulated, and his sudden freedom made him feel insecure.
He slowly rose, waiting to strike his head on something. It never happened.
Etana had released his ankles and was lying on her side on the floor, panting.
“You can breathe again now,” Rafen said, stooping and helping her up.
She clung to him, trembling more than he had ever known her do before, crying and laughing at the same time.
“I’m s-so sorry. I’ve never been good with small places.”
“Then I’m truly grateful you went into my ‘small place’ after the Soul Breaker’s Curse,” he whispered, pressing her to him.
Francisco pulled himself free, and Fritz fol
lowed at an agonizing rate. Sherwin crawled into Rafen’s calves, and Rafen nearly fell over.
“What are you doing? You can stand now, Sherwin.”
“I don’ dare believe it. Raf, aren’ there any more of those stinkin’ tunnels abou’?”
“No,” Etana moaned, gripping Rafen’s arm with numbing fingers.
“There aren’t,” Rafen said, trying to pry her fingers loose. “Don’t worry. It is all caves from here on.”
His hand slipped to Etana’s swollen abdomen, and he began feeling it. “Is the child all right, Etana? Can you feel her moving?”
“I don’t know.” She clutched her bump as if she had a bellyache.
“The child will be no more hurt than she would have been if Etana had slept frontways a night,” Fritz grunted, struggling to his feet. His casualness made Rafen’s worries seem ridiculous. Fritz’s dark shape rolled its shoulders in the black, and about a dozen clicks sounded simultaneously.
“Tha’s disgustin’,” Sherwin said.
“My joints will never be the same, I swear it,” Fritz said. “How long will it take us to travel the caves, Rafen? And will it take us far from the enemy?”
“Two hours,” Rafen said, “and I’m not sure how far away it will take us.”
He snapped his fingers and waited for a flame to appear, but the sparks flickered out and died.
“As I said, this place resists every attempt at kesmal,” Fritz said. “It is most unusual.”
Rafen peered ahead into the darkness. It was so thick that it felt like a heavy blanket. Wading through it without a light was going to be both impossible and dangerous. In his mind’s eye, he kept imagining hidden pits or drops. Extending his vision wasn’t going to help here either; he would only be seeing the same shadows further away.
“Once I had something that would have helped here,” Fritz said. “A phoenix feather never goes out. Yet, I do not have it with me.”
In his voice, there was a very tangible sorrow. Rafen remembered the world the Lashki had created for him during the Soul Breaker’s Curse: in it, Rafen had been stripped of his phoenix feather.
“Where is it?” he whispered.
“Ah,” Fritz sighed, “I left it with my wife before I began this journey, as a pledge I would return to her.”
“You willingly parted with it?” Rafen said disbelievingly. Though he knew Fritz had not been buried with the feather, he had suspected that with the combining of the times, his past self would still have had it.
“It was a rash promise,” Fritz admitted. It was easy to be open in the dark. “I would much rather die with it, if I were to die at all.”
Sherwin shifted uncomfortably in the darkness.
Francisco was still brushing dirt off his traveling clothes, as if he were about to attend a banquet.
“I’ll use my feather,” Rafen said softly.
“Are you mad?” Etana hissed, clutching Rafen’s hand. “A Runi is always more susceptible to Nazt when his feather is revealed.”
“Indeed, he is,” Fritz said. “Nazt knows exactly where he is when the feather is revealed. But I can see no other way out of this place.”
“Nor can I,” Rafen said, and before Etana could protest, he had drawn it from his button hem. When he opened his hand, the soft golden light bloomed around them, suffusing the wall and chasing away the shadows.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ambushed
The screaming of Nazt in Rafen’s head intensified. He reeled with its power, feeling like he was suffocating. Clenching his teeth, he forced himself to concentrate. In his mind, he saw the Phoenix surrounded in a pale red haze, his presence both terrifying and soothing because of its utter perfection.
While Sherwin didn’t even flinch at the sight of the feather, Francisco was staring at Rafen with vague shock. Rafen supposed his brother had never quite believed what was within his shirt until this moment. Even he himself was surprised at the brightness of the light. It was such that he wondered why it didn’t shine like a beacon when it was within his hem.
“It is brightest when revealed, and particularly when in the dark,” Fritz said, as if he had been reading Rafen’s mind.
“I can see that,” Rafen said wryly. “We’ll have to travel fast now.”
“Yes,” Fritz said. “If the Lashki doesn’t know now, he will discover shortly where you are.”
Rafen swung the light around to gather his bearings. The cave about them was wide with a high ceiling, from which occasional stalactites hung. A large hole, dangerously close to them, gaped in the ground. At the far end of the chamber they occupied, a rounded doorway led into a new passage.
“This way,” Rafen said, leading quickly.
Etana clutched his arm, and he was grateful for it. He was starting to shake. He felt oddly exposed with his phoenix feather out of his hem, as though he was walking around naked. Nazt’s screeching was becoming unbearable. It had a physical grip on his muscles. He found it hard to hear the others’ whispering.
“We should be running, Rafen,” Fritz said to him.
Rafen laughed. Why run? What was the point of traveling in this direction anyway? The Ravine was the ultimate destination. It was somehow connected with mental, kesmalic, and physical progress.
“Rafen,” Fritz said, his heavy hand falling on Rafen’s shoulder as the phoenix feather seared Rafen’s hand. “We need to run. Now.”
“Yes,” Rafen said painfully. The picture of the Phoenix was fading, even while he was trying to add more detail to it.
He began to run heavily. The cave they had entered was smaller than the one they had exited, and gradually, as they passed from doorway to doorway, into alcove after alcove and chamber after chamber, the intricacy of the place began to impress itself on him. He realized he was following his nose, as he did when he was in wolf’s form. He could smell fresh air a long way off, and he was desperate for it. The darkness around them thickened as they continued, and the phoenix feather kept brightening. It was scorching Rafen’s hand, and he ran biting his lip, trying not to drop it.
“I think kesmal is possible here, Rafen,” Fritz said.
Rafen, too, had felt the change in the air.
He ground to a halt abruptly when bright light burst into being before him. Etana screamed and shoved him sideways, and a blue wave swept over him. Fritz pushed Sherwin and Francisco back as a yellow shield sprang into being between him and the Lashki’s kesmal of its own accord. Rafen slipped his phoenix feather back into his hem. With horror, he noticed no change in the volume of Nazt in his head. Perhaps it was the proximity of the copper rod, or perhaps revealing his phoenix feather had done longer-lasting damage than he cared to think.
A slice of blue appeared in the air before Rafen; he threw up a fiery wall at the last moment, and the blue vanished into it, filling the air with smoke. Coughing, he scrambled up, grabbed Etana, and propelled her to the right.
“There is a stair,” he gasped, “feel against the wall.”
“I’m not leaving you!”
A slimy hand shot out of the darkness and grabbed his throat. Choking, Rafen lurched forward. He shot a focused beam toward the rotting head. The Lashki’s touch had not yet become so frigid that Rafen was prevented from doing kesmal. The ghoul absorbed his attack with the rod and sent a strong icy torrent toward Rafen. Wrenching himself free of the Lashki at last, Rafen ducked and allowed the kesmal to pass over him. He whipped his sword out while the air around them exploded with color, including Etana’s golden attacks. Sherwin yelled and threw himself to the ground. Something hit Rafen in the shoulder and he fell, sprawling at the feet of an Ashurite. A knife plunged toward his throat, and he rolled sideways, green filling his vision. The heat of kesmal buffeted his face. The smell of it was intoxicating. Absorbing it, he flung out a forceful spurt of flame.
He found himself upright again, and someone grabbed his hair from behind and jerked him backward. The chamber around them was filled with garish lights, amid which he glimpsed
faces, slices of faces, ribbons of faces. Rafen tore himself free of the Ashurite’s grip, slashed a torso with his sword, and lunged toward the Lashki again. His narrow orange ray flashed, and the Lashki was forced to throw himself sideways. A philosopher fell, writhing. Fritz’s shield blazed, bubble-like, around Rafen, Sherwin, Francisco, and himself. Etana had reached the left wall and found the earthen stairway Rafen had told her about. She stood frozen near it, her silver scepter in her hand.
“Go, Rafen!” Fritz shouted, his face sweaty with the effort he was pouring into his shield. “Take Etana!”
Etana reeled forward to join the fight, and Rafen realized only then that she was outside the shield. He rushed toward her and grabbed her shoulders, turning her toward the stairs. The kesmal shooting toward both their heads was blinding. Rafen drew it into his arm, his whole body quivering. They rushed up the stairs and onto the rampart against the left wall, which led into an elevated corridor. Sherwin was already galloping after them, and Francisco’s running, hunched form joined them next. Fritz was last; he was on the rampart when a sticky gray figure landed behind him. Fritz’s sword was out, and momentarily he and Alakil faced each other, bitter appraisal apparent in both their aspects. Rafen pushed past the others, his blinding sword lifted. Then Fritz slammed his blade into the earth of the rampart, and a ground-rocking explosion caused Rafen’s ears to pop and ring. Dust and debris filled the chamber, and Fritz shoved them into the raised corridor that led out of it.
“Fritz, why did you do that?” Rafen shouted. While the anger in his voice was obvious, kesmal also made his tone ringing and powerful.
“Move, Rafen!” Fritz bellowed back. “There were too many philosophers with him this time. You must trust me.”
They all stumbled forward, and darkness descended around them. The shrieking and clattering in the chamber behind drowned out everything else. Fritz swung his sword up and ignited the blade with kesmal, filling the corridor with a clear, yellow light.
“Is everyone unhurt?” he asked loudly as the noise behind subsided.
“Sort of,” Sherwin said.
The Fourth Runi (The Fledgling Account Book 4) Page 25