“To what?”
“Discovery.”
He repeated the word as the color drained from his face. He was white as a sheet while he advanced down the rope unbeknownst to its strength and praying he would not fall to his death in the process. Heights were not something Billy particularly enjoy dabbling with anymore. As a boy, Billy had scaled trees many times greater than his height, without any sort of fear, but after one hard fall, that all ended. He’d been frightened ever since, never daring to climb again, but here he was. The rope never seemed to end. The muscles in his fingers fatigued and started cramping up underneath the weight of his body. All of a sudden, this didn’t seem like the best idea. How would he get out? He didn’t have the strength in his arms to pull himself back up. There were too many thoughts going through his head at once. With a deep breath, Billy proceeded against his better judgment. As soon as he felt the firm stone beneath his feet, the fear died off— at least for now.
Lyra slid down the rope with ease like a pirate on his respective vessel. Her furry fingers acted like gloves to prevent any rope burn. She had a grin from pointy ear to pointy ear.
“What is this place?” Billy asked.
“Famie Yeut,” she said another time.
“You’ve said that already…but what is it?”
“A tomb.”
“Tomb? For who?”
Large granite caskets scattered in a pattern around the stone floor. Some were grander than others, and yet those tombs seemed to have been the ones with lids shattered into pieces.
“Grave robbers,” Lyra informed.
He counted fifteen granite caskets in total. A line of sunlight radiating through the porthole opening, landing on one casket. The lid was smashed to pieces. What was once inside it, was no longer. Billy leaned forward to examine the lid. A clean fracture branched across the surface. He studied the crumbling pieces scattered on the stone floor.
“Do you see it now?” Lyra asked, waiting in anticipation for his words. “It’s broken—“
“—from the inside out,” Billy finished with a piece of granite in his hands. “But that’s not—“
“—likely?” Lyra said.
“Unless… this person was buried alive.”
Lyra’s eyes widened. “Exactly.”
Inside the casket were a few straps of linen along with a couple of trinkets: a dried up vial, a collection of decayed flowers, and a sheath which contained no sword. The leather sheath flexed in Billy’s hands. There was no doubting the age of this leather. It was fragile and cracked. Ms. Menagerie had always made Billy polish the leather in the study. Cracked leather was a product of age. “Isn’t something supposed to go inside here?” he asked Lyra.
“Yet another mystery.”
“What does it say?” Billy pointed at the carved inscription at the head that was partly destroyed.
“I don’t know how to read it,” Lyra said shyly.
“Is there anyone who does?”
“The language died with my ancestors,” Lyra said as she looked at the inscription. “I’ve often wondered myself what it says.”
“There has to be someone who does.”
“No… there’s no one.”
“And what about Faelar?”
“Not even him.”
The tomb had a supernatural sense. There were powers beyond his comprehension buried in the stones. Secrets that needed to be discovered, but in turn had long since been forgotten. A mystery in his eyes.
Lyra's furry finger’s retrieved the small vial from the tomb and she tucked it into her pouch. The sun’s light was dimming through the porthole.
“How are we to get out of here?” Billy asked. He was mulling over the idea of climbing back up the rope. His fingers cried in protest, and his arms suddenly felt heavier than normal.
“There’s something else I want to show you,” Lyra said.
Dusk closed in, but Lyra insisted on pressing on.
Billy took one last glance at the inscription, attempting to remember every line for future use before they left the reminisce of the tomb behind and ventured deeper.
Water fell from the cracks in the ceiling, landing on the back of Billy’s neck and down into springs forming through the floor. He had taken the sheath found in the casket with every intention to find the blade that mated with it. That’s what he felt called to do. Not as a thief but as a discoverer. If the river elves couldn’t answer any of his burning questions, he would have to seek them elsewhere. A glimmer of confidence burnt inside him.
He was on the hunt for clues.
Billy followed Lyra, slowly abandoning any trace of light. Lyra used her memory to guide her, and Billy kept close. Blinded in the dark maze, he tripped and lost his footing numerous times, but she insisted they keep going. “It will be worth it,” she insured him, but he was not convinced. He still did not understand how they were going to climb out of this hole.
After countless walking, Lyra waved her arm at a transparent body of water. A perfectly contained lake underneath the ground, lit by the moonlight dotting the ceiling. In the middle of the lake, there was a glimpse of a platform, not large by any means. It held something. But the distance was too great, it was concealed under the limits of Billy’s vision. Blurry and secretive.
The lake was glacial in touch but clear as a midsummer’s turquoise. Billy rippled his fingers in disturbance, and suddenly an enormous object emerged from the glass. A polished white watercraft lined with strong fabrics on its singular mast stood at attention. The craft’s sail dazzled under the light like a diamond, reflecting shards inside the cave walls.
The watercraft displayed no sign of age. For being submerged under the water, Billy thought it odd. But the waters had preserved its beauty. He wondered for how long.
“We board here,” Lyra said as she jumped onto its deck.
Against his instincts, Billy followed Lyra and boarded the quarterdeck. “What happens now?”
Lyra smiled. An invisible gust of wind filled the sails. Even though no natural wind existed in the space. They were in a cave, deep within the ground, wind could not possibly be down here. Billy marveled at the event.
The boat's wheel spun to its command, controlled by no ship helm.
“What’s in the water?” Billy asked, but abruptly, what was once calm turned violent. And the craft was at battle with rising water on all sides. Waves the height of the mast splashed over the bow with treachery. Lyra wrapped herself around the ropes of the mast, and Billy followed to hold on for dear life. Wave after wave crashed against the ship’s hull and washed over the deck. Within minutes their bodies were soaked to the bone.
“Hold on tightly!” yelled Lyra as the bow sunk deeper and deeper into the water.
Billy hunkered down as best as he could. The ivory vessel rocked and tossed. He could only see short glimpses of the platform they were directed to. The ship’s skeleton howled and flexed under the water’s punishment. It never seemed to end. Lyra, without a doubt, had done this before. She grinned from ear to ear as each wave slapped her against her furry face.
“Yahoo!” she cried, removing the accumulative drops.
With every rise, there was an expected fall. Billy went ghostly and groaned in discomfort. “I don’t like this!” he cried, but the waters did not regard his feelings on the matter. Their punishment continued, and just when he thought he’d die of seasickness, although not knowing what seasickness was, the tide lessened. After many minutes of perilous waters, everything seemed to calm. The ship’s hull spoke no more.
They glide smoothly towards the platform in the center of the water, undisturbed.
“Let's do that again!” Lyra chuckled.
“No thank you,” Billy said, regaining control of his legs. He fell limp against the handrail and spewed whatever was inside. His first maiden voyage was far too much for him to handle. Fiery acid ran the length of his windpipe like dragon's breath.
“Are you okay?”
“Y-y-es,” he
said, wiping his mouth of the fire.
The ivory ship came to a stop. Starboard, the platform prosed up from the crystalline lake. A flat basin grew from a pedestal.
“It’s from the Children of the Light,” Lyra informed Billy.
The pedestal was made of the same material as the watercraft. Lyra knelt where a wooden pail bobbled and filled the contains with water. She brought it to the altar. Her furry fingers curled into cup shapes and slowly filled the basin with exactly seventeen handfuls of water.
Billy observed curiously, taking notice of the amount as Lyra’s thin lips counted with each released handful. When she finished, Lyra motioned with her arm, inviting Billy to look into the basin.
“Tell me what you see?” she said as Billy drew nearer.
Apprehensively, Billy moved closer to the altar, not out of command, but because of his own will. At first, the water showed nothing, just a few ripples where Billy’s thumbs broke the surface. But what was once crystalline water morphed into a picture so vivid, not ever he could have dreamt it.
“What do you see?” Lyra asked, scanning Billy’s face for indication.
“I see,” Billy took a deep breath. “I see… war…death…fire. It rages out of control. The river elves… this was once the chamber of a great castle. But it was destroyed by the flames of an enemy. By….”
“What’s happening?” Lyra leaned over Billy’s arm to see, but all she saw was the water from the lake.
Billy gasped as if held in a nightmare against his own will. He shivered and shook, his brow wetted with fear. The images never ended, they never ended.
"What is it?" Lyra studied his agony.
Finally, he fell flat against the platform, gasping for air.
"What did they show you?"
But he did not speak a word about what he saw in the basin’s waters. He had no intention to. No matter how many times Lyra asked. He needed to digest it. “Can you show me the way out?”
“But you haven’t told—“
“I need to feel the air on my face,” he said, white flushed. “I need to see something that will bring me happiness.”
Lyra did not ask Billy any more questions. They boarded the ivory ship back to the place they set sail.
Once off the vessel, the watercraft sunk back into the mysterious water from whence it came. Lyra did not return the way they entered, instead, they followed a slow-moving stream, and before Billy could complain, he and Lyra we exiting the mouth of a cave alongside the Winding River.
Lochwald was under a blanket of darkness. Only the trickling of the river could be heard.
The volitares were dotted with candlelight.
“To dinner?” Lyra said as she watched Billy soak up the midnight air.
“Yes. To dinner.”
23
The underground was a mindless maze.
For every direction, two forks were leading elsewhere, and guards spread throughout. But none of this was a concern to Quinn. She rushed, leading the charge, through the networks like she held a close secret. Did she know where she was going?
They eluded the guard's patrol by keeping to the shadows.
There were three ways Quinn knew to escape. One was located in the warden's study, an option that wouldn’t prove worth the risk. She'd have an entire army sitting there. Another was located in the hall where they stood trial. But still, far too risky. It was where the majority of dryads congregated in daily life. The third, and final way to the surface, was one Quinn herself had a hand in creating, derived from an invention gone horribly wrong, it blew a hole through the underground.
“What if they catch us? What will they do?” Abbott said nervously, watching their backs at every moment, frightened at any unexplained noise. “Kill us?”
“You’re going to have to trust me,” Quinn’s lip lifted and she tucked back a strand of hair behind her large ears. “I know the way.”
Trust. A light word to speak into another’s ears, but not one with effect if you hadn't proved it. How could he trust when deceit was shown? Abbott sighed a deep lungful before chasing nervously after the shadow of Quinn’s cloak. He would have to trust her for now.
“Slow down!” Abbott whispered as the dark tunnels shallowed her up.
“Keep up, you slowpoke!”
“Can’t you do some kind of magic to get us out of here?” Abbott asked as a bead of sweat dripped down from his brow. “We’re not going to make it. I’m winded.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” she chuckled at his uninformed inquiry. “I can’t just do a spell without an enchanted object of some kind. I’m no witch. I can only rely on my intellect. Enchanted objects hold the magic, not I, remember?”
“You must have some kind of invention that could help us? What about the magnifying glass? I’ve seen firsthand what it can do. You could…look into it for some invisible portal or something?”
“Haven’t invented something to make a person disappear or climb through walls. What kinds of things do people in Woolbury invent? Oh, that’s right. Sheep shears? A proper ale mug? The perfect garden trellis? Again, I’m no witch. Were going to have to find a way out.”
“Surely you’re genius enough to think of something of use.”
“You don’t understand how it works,” Quinn muttered walking briskly down another tunnel. “I can’t just come up with something on the spot. Inventions take moons and moons of work with testing and planning. You think I’m some kind of—?”
“But—“
“I’m not a witch!” Quinn said thrice, ensuring that would be the end of his outlandish accusal.
They approached the third exit, the failed experiment, the collapsed corridor. Her eyes narrowed as she combed through the darkness for any sign of life. Her fist pounded on her thigh, and she crouched against the wall muttering obscenities.
“What is it?”
“They’re— they’ve— those pests!” Quinn could hardly keep her head from exploding, let alone think. The corridor had been rebuilt. The hole, where the cave-in was, had been covered with blocks of stone, highly unusual. “Just when you think we’ll catch a break! Those twisted weasels! They’ve ruined it! It was— beautiful. And they’ve ruined it!”
“What are we going to do now?” Abbott asked amidst her outbursts. “Is inventing something still out of the question?”
“Shhh!” Quinn said, covering Abbott’s mouth with her dirty hands. Her teeth gritted together, and her eyes focused as footsteps landed from behind where they were hiding. A group of guards approached. Many of them. “Eldritch.” Quinn’s fist clenched in disappointment. “I should have at least tied him up or gone through with removing his snake tongue.”
The guards swarmed like aggravated bees and lined up alongside the third exit anticipating conflict.
“If something moves, kill it. Don’t let anyone through your ranks,” Eldritch screamed. His face was still covered in blood. “You’ll die one way or another you red-headed thief! If it is at my hand or theirs.”
“He’s a dead man!” Quinn said furiously.
“Quinn, think!”
“Psst!”
Abbott felt the presence of something standing behind him. In a reactive state, he pushed whatever was down. Quinn turned, ready to pounce. It was the guard who escorted her from her cell before the trial. The one who interrupted the removal of her eye.
“Wait!” she cried, attempting to regain her footing. “I’m not here to turn you over to them!”
The phrase seemed unlikely to Quinn, and even more so to Abbott. Why would anyone want to help them, given the circumstances?
In an effort to persuade them of her peacefulness, the guard removed the helm covering her face. There was the flesh of a tree but with darker skin. Her eyes reeked of bravery paired with rebellion. In her mid-years, she had bush-like hair accompanied with foliage pulled back to fit inside her helm. She had an ancient dryad name, but others called her Samia.
“You’re surrounded on all sides
. The warden has issued an execution once arrested— Eldritch persuaded her into it. If you don’t listen to me, his father will have no chance. I’ve heard wind travels and word with it, two black riders were spotted riding east for Unduk Validur.”
Abbott’s eyes widened.
“That’s them,” Quinn said. “It’s got to be!”
“Was there anyone with them?” Abbott asked. “A man? A third man?”
“Yes,” Samia replied, “that’s why I believed your story. That’s why I want to help you both. Brina has become clouded by the duty of these woods. I cannot simply turn a blind eye and watch this monstrosity of justice. If Unduk Validur is where you must travel, I can at least help you escape.”
“But that corridor is the only way,” Quinn said.
The corridor was full tenfold.
“There’s another way. A restricted one. I’ve only just discovered it— in Brina’s chambers. All the other ways have been flooded with guards. Brina is the only one who knows of its existence.”
Quinn swept over Samia as if attempting to detect any kind of betrayal or deception hidden within her. She had a gut feeling about her, but time prevented her from unraveling it. She’d take her chances. “Lead the way,” Quinn said reluctantly, “but if you even think about betraying us, I will—“
Abbott’s eyes flared at Quinn.
“You’ll need to wear these if we intend to clear them.” Samia handed them a matching set of emerald armored leathers. “Put them on if you want to get out of here alive,” she said.
“They’re hideous,” Quinn observed the pile of garments, “and they reek of dung— and they’re wet.”
“Would you rather not wear them?” Samia challenged, “the odds of us making it to Brina’s chamber increase if you do.”
Abbott slugged the damp tunic over his shoulders and fastened it with his respective leather belt. He did not like it any more than Quinn, but Samia was right. “Oh come on,” he said in an encouraging tone.
Quinn pinched her nose, gagging in the process, and slung the garment to join Abbott. “This better work,” she muttered. “I could just blow another hole in the roof. It worked well last time.”
The Shadow of Our Stars: The Tales of Evinar Page 17