It hits the water about fifty feet from me, and it flails and screams with a bloody terror. It's not built for swimming, dense and muscular and of a shape not good for treading water. I'm drifting toward it, but it does not notice me. I keep pumping my numb arms and legs and watch it get sucked below the surface, its screech burbling to nothingness.
I keep fighting the pull of the water. I drift around the circle, now floating below the open doorway again. I can't see any of the others, but there's no mistaking the screech of a second watchdog. This one is more cautious, or more capable. It skids to a halt on the ledge and looks around. As I drift around the circle again, I keep myself oriented to see the beast.
It turns toward Lupay. Its six legs are thick and muscular like a workhorse, but short and agile like a hunting dog. It snarls and paws the gravelly ledge, then stalks toward Lupay. Why doesn't she run? She can't possibly fight it. Then I see: the ledge only runs twenty feet in the direction she went. She's trapped. Her only choice is to fight or jump into the water. As my arms and legs churn and my breath comes in short, tight gasps, I want to yell at her to fight.
A yell from Freda stops the watchdog's advance, and it turns to look at her down the other side of the ledge. Freda jumps and yells and stamps. The watchdog pauses a moment, looks at Lupay, then turns toward Freda and stalks toward her.
The water sucks at my feet, and I kick at it, trying to push it back. It's like a thousand icy fingers pulling at my clothes, freezing my feet and my muscles. I scan the vertical wall all around the cylinder in which I float. The ledge is fifty feet above my head, but... there. About a quarter way around the circle there are some handholds carved into the rock. Part of me wonders if they're natural or carved, but the rest of me doesn't care.
I focus on that point. Another minute and I'll drift right past there, but I need to get myself to the wall. I hadn't noticed that the current was pulling me to the center as well as around and down.
Screeching rips the rumbling again, but I ignore it. Freda and Lupay will have to manage on their own for now. I think about where Tom might have gone and why he didn't stay to help. Maybe because he knew what was chasing them. Or maybe it was always his plan to lure us here to our deaths.
There, coming around. I push hard against the water, but I don't move anywhere. I'm staying on top of the water, but I keep drifting toward the center. I think I must be frowning. I know my legs are churning, and I can see my hands moving just below the surface of the clear, pale blue water. But I pass by the handholds faster than I expect, still twenty feet from the edge. I kick harder, push harder, and as I drift around again I make progress.
I glance to the ledge and see the watchdog bearing down on Freda. She's still yelling at it. It seems to be wary, taking its time, planning out how it's going to kill her. When it's only ten yards from her, it crouches like a cat about to pounce.
Lupay is sprinting up behind it. She's got something in her hand, something big and black. Then it's spinning around her head, something on a rope... it's a black boot. One of her feet is bare, and she's tied the black rope to the boot and is swinging it above her head in short, tight circles.
The watchdog leaps just at Lupay arrives behind it and flings the boot. Freda screams and runs away along the ledge, but there's no way she could get away, no way. Lupay's boot catches the watchdog around its bounding hind legs and wraps around them, tripping it up. It goes down in a heap on the ledge. Freda is safe for the moment, but the watchdog is already tearing with its teeth at the rope.
Here come my handholds. I've managed to make it almost to the edge. It's so close. I push hard, kicking one urgent lunge. I'm not sure I can survive the cold much longer. Maybe not even one full turn around the circle. My teeth rattle together like hammers on nails, and as I lunge I watch my fingers hit the lowest handhold and bounce off. I can't feel anything, can't grip. It's like watching someone else's hand. The hand of a dead person.
I begin drifting away from the handholds and around the circle again, unconsciously continuing to keep myself afloat. I can't feel my arms and legs, but they must be churning with simple repetition. I look again to the ledge, where the watchdog has torn Lupay's boot to bits and freed itself from her rope. She's taken off her other boot and is tying the rope to it again as Freda keeps the watchdog's attention.
People in blue gowns appear in the doorway but do not step out onto the ledge. Lupay ignores them and swings the second boot in tight circles above her head. Freda hops around, shouting noises and barks at the watchdog. It crouches again, drool dripping from its mouth in big globs.
Suddenly, a gut-pounding grinding noise makes the entire room shudder, and the water around me ripples with the sound. The others, including the watchdog, pause and look around. The grinding noise lasts about ten seconds, and with each second that passes less water falls on the gigantic wheels above me. And, with each second that passes, the current sucking me downward eases.
When the grinding stops, the downward pull is gone. The deep, ever-present rumble has stopped. The room is eerie in the quiet, making the littlest sounds echo and grow big in the space. The watchdog snarls and pants and slobbers. I can hear my hands pushing against the water, keeping me afloat as I continue to drift around the circle once more.
Lupay barks one quick "ha!" and launches her boot again at the watchdog, which is confused by her noise. The rope hits its neck, and the boot wraps around and catches. The watchdog flails its wide mouth back and forth, claws at its neck, but it can't reach the rope. Lupay yanks hard, but it has no effect. The beast froths and claws itself, barking and snarling but unable to get to the boot or the rope.
One of the ghost-men in blue steps onto the ledge behind her, a long stick in his hands. It might be a spear. I can't tell. But I am drifting around toward the handholds again, this time slower. I swim myself to the edge and drag my hands along the stone as I approach the handholds. By the time I reach them, I'm moving slowly enough that I can grab on and rest a moment, dragging my weight up onto my forearms and resting my chest on the tiny outcropping.
When I look up again, the ghost-man is lying on the ledge, holding his hands to his head, and Lupay has his stick. She waggles it at the others, who back up. Then she turns on the watchdog, which is still preoccupied with the boot. She sneaks up behind it, raises the stick high above her head, and plunges it deep into the beast's rump. It squeals an ungodly wail and thrashes at the pain. It dashes its own head against the wall and loses its footing, slipping off the ledge to splash into the water.
They're safe! My blood surges through me and I feel almost unfrozen for a moment with exhilaration. Lupay turns at the other ghost-men, who now inch out onto the ledge. They have spears. Lupay's spear is now buried in the bloody rear of the watchdog in the water. Which is only thirty yards away from me, thrashing and growling in the water. It's not sinking like the first one did. There's no downward current to drag it under.
As I watch it, it starts floating around the same arc I traced. It rights itself and stabilizes, and our eyes meet. They are dead, black eyes, without a soul or conscience behind them. It knows only one thing: That it needs to get to me and kill me. Now I know why the ghost-men waited in the hall while Lupay and Freda were left to fight the beast alone.
I need to look up the wall, see if there are other handholds, footholds I can grab. My hands and shoulders are thawing out now that I've pulled them out of the water, but my legs are still ice cold. I can't tear my gaze away from the eyes of the bloodthirsty beast floating toward me.
I hear shouting above on the ledge, but I can't bring myself to look up. Words, grunts, scuffle sounds. Tom's voice shouting something. After a moment, it comes to me through the terror created by those beastly eyes.
"Dane!" Tom's voice. "Dane! Climb! Frick you, climb!"
I shake my head and see that the watchdog is only ten yards away, its large, red tongue dragging in the water. It's not swimming, simply drifting my way. Its whimper of excitement and anticipatio
n would chill my blood if there were any warmth left.
Idiot, I chatter to myself as I spin to the wall and push with all my might on the handhold I'm grasping. When I look up, I see there are similar handholds going straight up, like rungs on a ladder, all the way to another doorway twenty feet above me.
I push, strain to make my legs obey my mind. The snarl and whimper behind me propel me upward with desperation. One foot steps on that lowest rung, and I think about pushing with my leg. It sends me up, and my hands grab the hard granite of the second rung.
Thank you, Baddock, I whisper to myself through chattering teeth. His brutal and relentless training included climbing up a half frozen waterfall every January. I grab the next rung and will my legs to go through the proper motions. By the time the watchdog drifts to where I had been, I am fifteen feet up the wall and out of its reach. It drifts lazily around the circle, and I give it one glance back to see it craning its neck, trying to keep its eyes on me.
Another couple of rungs, and I throw myself onto the floor of the corridor just inside the doorway. My body shivers and quakes. I know I should move to get the warmth flowing again, but I just lie there and turn my head to look at the ledge on the far side. I'm still thirty feet below the door we entered, and a third of the way around. I can't see any of them. Not Lupay. Not Freda. Not Tom. Not one single ghost-man.
With a terrifying grinding of stone on stone, water pours from the ceiling and spills over the gigantic wheels. They turn slowly, then pick up speed. Ten seconds later, they're shaking the mountain with a constant, deep rumble. I look down to see the watchdog slip silently beneath the water, its black eyes still staring at me.
CHAPTER 20
More than anything else, the lack of voices compels me to stand. I'm in some sort of access hallway. The tiny lanterns dot the ceiling, but they are weak and spaced far apart, creating deserts of deep shadow between them. My legs ache with the trauma of thawing, and my knees crack as I begin stumbling along the hall. I stagger into one wall, then the other, just following their long, straight path.
After only a hundred yards or so I'm huffing, and I stop for a moment. Behind and below, the door blazes a sharp rectangle. The corridor has been sloping up, and I've come farther that I thought. Up might mean out. I hoist myself by clawing up the wall, and I forge ahead, pushing certain noisy thoughts out of my mind. I focus on the sharp pain growing in my toes, the harsh shivering of my chest and rattling of my teeth, the dusty air that weighs down my lungs.
But the thoughts insist themselves upon me. Freda and Lupay, captured once again by the Subterrans. Taken back to Fobrasse and an eternity of imprisonment, buried alive in this living tomb. The exits sealed.
My fate lies ahead, somewhere. Whether it's death, escape, or a reunion with the girls, I can't say. I only know that I have to keep trudging on and up.
I stagger forward, from shadow to light to shadow again, regaining warmth and strength with each step. After a few minutes, I look back to find I can no longer see the doorway. Have I gone that far? No—the lights disappear in a shallow, barely perceptible curve of the passage. It's slowly turning me back toward Fobrasse's stronghold. That's it, then. I slump against the wall. They've probably sealed all the exits by now, anyway. Tom said we had only minutes, and surely it's been a half hour since he said it.
I am so tired, sitting against the barren wall under one of the tiny lanterns. The ghost-men saw me escape from the watchdog, so they're probably coming for me now. I can't bring myself to care. Instead, I close my eyes and try to empty my head of everything.
"... just down here..."
A voice drifts past me in the shadowy, yellow fog.
"... can't be far..."
I open my eyes and lift my head. Have I been sleeping?
"Dane!"
Freda springs at me from the shadow, followed closely by Tom and Lupay. She grabs my hand and yanks me up, throws her arms around me and squeezes tight. "Oh, you're so cold. And wet." She pulls back but keeps her hands around mine. "You're shivering. Oh, you're freezing!"
I want her to put her arms around me again. For a moment I felt filled to my soul with her warmth, and I want that feeling back. My mouth drops syllables at her, but if any sound comes out, I'm sure it's a garbled nonsense at best.
"Come on," Tom says. "By now they've sealed everything but the most southern entrance. We don't have long."
Freda indulges me with another tight embrace, her body making a distinct outline of warmth on my ice cold skin.
"Now." Lupay's solitary word sucks the warmth from Freda's touch, but it fills us both with the fire of urgency. Freda holds my hand and pulls me forward as we follow Tom and Lupay along the corridor.
Five hundred yards along, Tom curses. "Run!"
He takes off at a sprint. Lupay gives us one quick glance before taking off after him. Freda almost pulls my arm off, but my legs aren't moving right. I try to run, but like in a nightmare my legs pump hard but I don't seem to get anywhere.
Freda pulls at my arm, and my shoulder begins to burn in protest. My guts churn, and I feel like retching, like that disgusting breakfast Fobrasse fed us needs to be expelled. I pause, but Freda pulls harder. "Dane! Come on! There are voices. The Subterrans are coming!"
Part of me thinks, let them come. I am so tired, so sick. So cold. How can this hallway feel so much colder than that water did?
Freda yanks again on my arm, then punches me in the chest, hard.
"Dane. I won't leave you, but if you don't run, now, we'll be trapped in here for ever."
Forever is a long time, I think. Surely it would be okay to go have a nap in that comfortable apartment.
"Think of Lupay," she says, and I hear desperation and sadness in her quivering voice.
"Can I just sit down a minute?"
"No, Dane." She's crying now. Why is she crying? "Come on. Think of your mother."
My mother, who didn't save us from this exile. If she'd done something, maybe we wouldn't be here right now.
"Think of Darius." Her voice drips with a poisonous anger.
Darius? I tilt my head up at her. Tears stream down her face. Darius. Yes, he's the one.
"Think of Baddock, Dane."
Baddock. The name kindles a flame in my belly.
"He murdered your father. He's out there."
Baddock. Yes. He's out there. And I'm nearly frozen to death. My mind snaps awake again and realizes I've let myself fall into weakness. Baddock would be disappointed. He would scold me.
With my consciousness revived, it's not hard to draw on my training and will my body to do what it must. Moving will warm me. Moving will get us to the exit. I straighten and squeeze Freda's hands. Her smile is joyful but also filled with uncertainty. Have I delayed us too long? No time to guess.
I start running, clumsily at first, but after a moment I correct my motions to my body and lumber on. Freda runs beside me, her feet slapping the floor. After ten seconds, I've found enough strength that I'm pulling her along.
We come to an opening on the right side, but I see Tom and Lupay waiting straight ahead. As we pass the opening at full speed, we hear shouting. Twenty yards along, I glance back to see the first of several blue-clad ghost-men turn out of the side hall and follow us. They appear unarmed, but they're fast.
We sprint, my feet barely touching the ground as we fly along the corridor. A hundred yards ahead, a sudden glare bursts where Tom was a moment earlier. No time to wonder. We fly onward, the ghost-men catching up. He's only fifteen feet behind when I see that the bright flash is actually sunlight. Tom has taken us to an exit.
"Come on!" His yell seems unnecessary as I keep pulling Freda's arm, ignoring the burning in my lungs and the steel cramps in both my calves. It's hard to ignore Freda's rasping gasps and growing weight on my arm, but we're so close and the ghost-man is closer.
"Stop!" His shrill voice barks at us from behind, but we burst through the opening to stumble onto a grassy hill. We both tumble onto the so
ft turf, feeling the warmth of the spring sunshine and the scrapes and bumps of stones and dirt as we roll down the slope. I right myself and look back to the opening.
The lead ghost-man stands just inside the cave, his chest heaving and his eyes smoldering. It's the one that was Tom's companion, the one whose ribs I broke. He looks past me and shakes his head in what looks like disgust. Then he steps back one pace and heaves a stone slab across the opening. When the stone is in place, if I didn't know there had been a doorway there a moment ago, I would not believe it. Even now, just seconds later, I can't pick out the lines of the portal. It's like it no longer exists. Like it never existed.
I turn to check Freda, who kneels in the grass, grasping her stomach and gasping. Lupay stands nearby, staring up at the wall as I had a moment before. Tom crouches beside her, his head hung low. It was at Tom the other ghost-man looked, at him he shook his head. Contempt. That's what was in his face as he sealed Tom out.
We're all gasping for breath, and although I'm feeling less frozen than before, I'm still soaked to the skin. The afternoon sun glows warm on my black clothing. I turn to capture as much of its glow on my body as possible and lift my face upward. Through my closed eyelids, the day glows red. The familiar smells of pine and meadow grass, of distant marsh and dust stirred by the wind, fill me with hope and a feeling of freedom.
I open my eyes to see the vastness of a blue, cloudless sky. I feel like I could breathe in and expand to fill the entire valley. I breathe deep again, inhale as much of the fresh outdoors as I can.
I hold the breath in as long as I can, then let it out in a primal yell that echoes off the distant peaks. The yell tapers off and dissolves into a breathless laughter. I gasp in more air and laugh it out again. I keep my face pointed at the sky, the sun, the warmth, and I laugh.
Semper (New Eden) Page 22