Corbbmacc led her down the length of the building, stopping beneath a window set a few feet above their heads. He motioned her to help him, and together they quietly moved a couple of the most intact of the crates under it and climbed up to the window.
They stood side by side, looking down onto a huge platform. Old and rusted railroad tracks, perhaps the same one’s they’d followed through the forest to Hellsgate, ran through what had clearly once been a train station. It was mostly bare now, only the tracks themselves and a yellow line, almost faded to invisibility, exposing what the building’s original purpose had been.
Far to their left, a handful of guards sat against a low wall. They seemed to be playing cards, and several were smoking makeshift cigarettes.
She looked at Corbbmacc. He was scowling.
He jumped down from the crates and sat against the wall, and she went to join him.
“They’re waiting for more supplies, or maybe new prisoners,” he whispered to her, brushing hair out of his eyes. “We’ll have to wait until they’ve gone.”
“How long?”
Corbbmacc shrugged. “Not long, probably. They don’t usually waste time here unless they know someone’s coming.”
In the gritty sunlight, Corbbmacc looked more like himself again. Color had returned to his face, and he seemed to have locked away whatever demons he’d allowed to show through in the tunnels.
“What is it they mine?” she asked, deciding to dare a fresh line of questioning.
“Crystal,” he said. “It’s strange, though. The Brood has been trying to figure out why they mine it for years. As far as anyone can figure, they mine it, then take it to the mills where it is destroyed. And that’s it.”
“Destroyed?”
“Yeah. They have these machines that work with steam that pulverize the crystals. Then they usually just dump them.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“No, it doesn’t. Paige thinks maybe they’re looking for something in the crystal, but I don’t think so. I’ve never seen them sifting through it either before or after they crush it to bits.”
“Then what do you think they’re doing with it?”
“I have no theories,” he said, a touch of his old surliness creeping back into his voice. “That’s for great minds like Paige to figure out, isn’t it?” It was clear he was trying to keep his tone neutral, but Emily thought she detected a trace of bitterness behind the words.
She considered probing deeper, but decided against it. He’d been more forthcoming in the last few hours than he’d been over the few days she’d known him. It was better not to press her luck. A fragile sort of camaraderie was building between them, and though she still wasn’t sure if she trusted the Dragon’s Brood, she was starting to believe she did trust Corbbmacc.
They sat, letting the time spin out in silence. Fresh ash fell silently around them, coating their hair and shoulders in a thin film of gray dust. Now and then, they heard shouts that echoed between the buildings along the silent and lifeless streets of Hellsgate.
After a time, the stillness was broken by the distant rhythmic pounding of hooves on stone, and Corbbmacc climbed back up onto the crates. She clambered up beside him, and they watched through the thick, dirty glass as a small cart, pulled by a pair of horses, followed the tracks into the station.
The guards who’d been waiting quickly swept up their cards and stomped out their cigarettes. They made their way down the platform to meet the cart in a knot with expressions that ranged from mild interest to utter boredom.
The driver brought the cart to a stop and climbed down from his seat. He was dressed like the others, but his gray beard and lined face seemed to indicate he was far older than any of those he was meeting.
He spoke to one of the men, his hands moving flamboyantly through the air to emphasize his points with gestures that were almost theatrical in their intensity. Through the thick glass, Emily couldn’t make out his words, though his exasperation about something was plain. The driver and the man he’d addressed moved to the back of the cart and untied the tarp that covered its contents.
Piled in the cart, like cords of wood, were men, women, and children. They were naked and bound at their wrists and ankles. Some had bright red welts on their backs and shoulders where the flesh had been whipped until it was raw and bloody. Blood ran from sores on the faces of others, and all were filthy and underfed.
Emily let out an involuntary gasp, and Corbbmacc nudged her hard in the ribs. She clamped her teeth together, staring in mute horror as the guards unloaded the dozen or so new arrivals and carried them away into the building.
When they’d gone, Corbbmacc got down again and resumed his place against the wall.
“What now?” she hissed, sinking down once more beside him. She felt detached from the world and numb from the horrors she’d seen. Somewhere, buried deep beneath the layers of terror and shock, she thought she might be feeling the first embers of fresh fury as they began kindling. She wanted Marianne to pay for these things. She wanted her to be made to answer for these unthinkable, unspeakable crimes.
But those desires were faint just now, like long distant events written in a history book. You know them to be true, but cannot wholly grasp the full extent of their implications. For now, numb shock prevailed over all other emotions, refusing to let any surface.
“We wait until they’ve taken the prisoners to the mines. Then we go in and see if we can find any medical supplies.”
“We aren’t going to try to help those people?”
“How the hell would we do that?” he asked, his face flushing. “We’re outnumbered more than three to one, assuming there’s no one else in there. And then, let’s just say we did get them away, what are we supposed to do with them? Smuggle a dozen naked, frightened people through the tunnels back to the safe house? We’d be risking the lives of everyone there.”
Emily bit her lip. He was right, of course, but it seemed wrong to just sit here while those people were loaded up like cargo and taken off to some mine in the mountains.
At last, they heard the sounds of hooves fading away, and Corbbmacc stood, stretching and looking up and down the alley.
“There shouldn’t be anyone here now,” he said quietly. “But we should still be careful.”
He got back up on the crates and, with an effort, slid the window open. The screech of wood seemed deafening in the quiet alley, echoing flatly from the walls of the buildings that lined it.
Corbbmacc tensed, waiting, but no one came running.
“We’re okay,” he said, and climbed awkwardly through the window.
She watched as he hung from the sill by his fingertips for a moment, then let go and dropped the few feet to the concrete floor below. She followed his lead.
He was already crossing the platform by the time her feet hit the floor, and she hurried to catch up, the sounds of their footfalls reverberating through the cavernous room, making her pulse quicken.
“Do you know where you’re going?”
He nodded but didn’t say anything.
They followed the tracks for a while, then Corbbmacc led her up a short flight of stairs and along a narrow walk that ran above and alongside the platform. Everything remained still and silent.
At the end of the walk was a large set of metal doors. The insignia of the guard had been crudely scratched onto their dull gray surfaces, perhaps with the point of a sword.
He grasped the handle of the door on the right and pulled. It didn’t move.
“Damn,” he swore. “It’s never been locked before.”
But a glint of something shiny had caught Emily’s eye and she stepped forward, staring at the frame above the doors.
“Give me a boost,” she said, moving to stand beside him.
“What?”
“You know…a boost.” She demonstrated, lacing her fingers together and holding them out from her body.
Nonplussed, he did as she asked, and she st
epped into his hands, balancing herself with a palm against the smooth metal of the doors.
On the door frame, sitting on its edge at the far left end was a silver key.
She snatched it and stepped back down to the ground, holding it up for Corbbmacc to inspect.
Corbbmacc looked up at the shadows above the doors, then back down at her.
“How the devil did you see that?”
Emily shrugged. “The light glinted off of it. Not exactly top security around here, is it?”
“It doesn’t need to be,” he said grimly. He took the key from her and slid it into the lock. There was a click and a mechanical whir that reminded her eerily of the doors at Seven Skies, and the doors before them swung outward.
Beyond was a dark storeroom filled with crates that were smaller and more numerous than those where the food had been kept.
They stepped inside. Just enough light filtered in from the platform to make out crude symbols scrawled upon the boxes that were stacked around them in neat rows.
“We’re looking for ones with red crosses on them,” Corbbmacc said.
Emily let out a tiny snort of laughter, more a result of her keyed up nerves than amusement. Corbbmacc glanced at her sideways.
So much had changed in the world, and yet a red cross to indicate first-aid supplies was still the same.
“I’ll go this way,” Corbbmacc said, pointing to his left. “You go that.”
Emily turned the way he’d indicated and squinted at the boxes in the dim light. Most of the symbols painted on their sides meant nothing to her. She scanned them, walking slowly toward the far end of the room.
She was still looking at the crates when she turned the corner, trying to make out the dark shape that marked a small box at the bottom of the nearest stack. Was that a cross or an X?
From farther down the aisle, she heard a soft, rustling sound, and she glanced up. Standing deeper in the shadows was a tall cloaked and hooded figure.
“Now, isn’t this interesting,” a voice said. It was dry and toneless, like the shuffling of pages in a high wind.
She turned to run, but as she did the doors slammed shut with a clang that reverberated along the length of the platform outside. Corbbmacc swore and she heard a snick and a whir as the lock reengaged, and darkness enveloped her.
Chapter Twenty-Six
For the first few minutes of their imprisonment, Emily and Corbbmacc fought in vain to force the doors open. They tried to break them down with their shoulders; they wedged the blades of their swords between them and tried to pry them apart. In the end, all they had to show for their efforts was a collection of bruises. They were trapped, animals in a cage.
The darkness was absolute, but it seemed that they were alone. Like the steady whoosh of continuous traffic on a busy highway, there was an almost ephemeral sense of unease that accompanied the presence of a wraith, and which she was only aware of when it was gone. If the creature was still somewhere nearby, it apparently had no interest in carrying on a conversation or negotiating their release.
Emily sank down onto the cold, concrete floor, her back to the stacks of supplies that stood just inside the doors, and tried to clear her mind. She heard Corbbmacc stumble toward her in the dark, and she reached out and found his hand, guiding him to a spot beside her.
They sat that way for a long time, listening to the silence and the rhythm of their own hearts. Already, she could feel her sense of the time passing slipping from her grasp. How long would they be trapped in here? Hours? Days?
“Is there any other way out?” she asked, knowing what his answer would be but wanting to fill the silence with something—anything.
“No.”
“How often do the guards come to the station?”
“I have no idea,” he said, and Emily was alarmed by the strain she heard in his voice.
“It’s not your fault, you know,” she said, groping in the dark and finding his arm. His muscles vibrated beneath her hand with barely controlled tension.
“Sure,” he said. There was a strange flatness to his tone that was worse than the anxiety, but he did not pull away from her touch. After a moment, she felt him grow still. Neither of them spoke again.
As the time passed, Emily’s mind began to wander. She wondered if Celine’s fever had broken yet. A rush of guilt filled her that she wouldn’t be there when Celine awoke. The girl would be sick and surrounded by strangers, save for Michael and Rascal, she supposed. But that wasn’t the same. She should be there for Celine. She’d gotten her into this mess. Celine was her responsibility now.
Remember your friends.
She pushed the guilt away, willing her heart to slow and her nerves to quiet. She’d find her way back to Celine, she swore. She would.
Despite their situation, Emily felt herself growing drowsy as the minutes turned into hours, and the hours slipped away. Gradually, her head dropped wearily onto Corbbmacc’s shoulder. She felt him stiffen for a moment beside her, and she was sure he would pull away.
Please don’t, she thought disconnectedly.
He didn’t, and after a minute, she felt him relax again. He rested the side of his face against her hair.
She thought vaguely that she felt his arm slip around her shoulders as she drifted off, but sleep swallowed her before she could be sure.
* * *
Bright sunshine dapples the ground at her feet as she moves among the trees. Above, she can just see the brilliant blue of the morning sky between the branches. A cloud of purest white drifts lazily into view, and she fancies it is shaped like a chess piece—the white queen, perhaps. Birds sing, their voices merging and blending into a dissonant chorus more beautiful than any choir. The air is clean—cleaner than she has ever known it to be. She breathes in great lungfuls of it, savoring its sweetness. Somewhere, deep in the shadowy corners of her mind, she sees a smoke- and ash-filled sky and a ragged corpse shuffling beneath it. Her heart misses a beat, but those images cannot taint this morning. Nothing can taint it.
She is wearing a great deal of armor that clanks rhythmically as she walks. Though it is heavy, she moves easily. Its weight is familiar; its noise is comforting. She carries a helmet with a visor by its strap in one hand, and it clangs against her thigh with every step.
She is journeying somewhere. Where? She can’t bring the thought into focus. She knows the answer is in her mind somewhere, but she can’t catch hold of it. Her thoughts seem to be flowing along two separate tracks.
A boundless, limitless joy fills her breast, and she quickens her steps, anxious to reach her destination. The joy is connected to that place. It will be like coming home, she thinks.
At the same time, terror and misery claw at her insides like the frightened, caged creature she is, trapped in a locked room far away.
She is here.
She is there.
There is no difference.
There is every difference.
She knows what will happen next. It is like remembering, only she has never been here before. She hears the sound of running water, and she realizes all at once that she is very thirsty. Both halves of her are united in this if nothing else. Water from a clear stream would be such a treat on a hot spring morning such as this. No, not merely a treat, but a glorious blessing. She must have that drink. By God, she will have it.
She turns toward the sound, pushing through the brush and leaving the path behind. Branches whip at her face, and she feels leaves and needles catch in her hair. The air smells sweetly of fresh pine.
The stream is not far. Moving through the greenery is easy, even despite the armor that weighs her down. She passes through the trees, her mouth aching with thirst. She is almost there…
All at once, the trees fall away, and she finds herself standing on the muddy bank, blinking against the reflection of the sun upon the clean, clear water that flows past like a vision.
But the water is not the true vision.
She is not alone.
&nbs
p; A beautiful woman is bathing in the stream. Sunlight gleams from her long, golden hair. She smiles in surprised delight at Emily, seeming to recognize her and unembarrassed by her nakedness. She wears nothing, save a silver ring with a black stone upon one delicate finger. The sun glints off the damp surface of the stone as the woman raises her hand and beckons to her.
The joy she had been feeling crests, and her heart leaps with surprised recognition at the sight of the woman before her.
She knows this woman.
She has never seen this woman before.
The miserable, trapped animal inside her scrambles frantically for purchase, confused and lost. It finds none.
She takes a step nearer the water, raising her hand in a happy greeting…
* * *
The sound of voices intruded on her dream, and with a start, she and Corbbmacc sprang apart in the dark.
“…thieves in the stores,” the wraith was saying, its tone betraying no hint of any emotion.
Emily scrambled to her feet, drawing her sword as she did. Beside her, she heard a metallic scrape as Corbbmacc drew his own. She sidestepped until they were shoulder to shoulder. Tension radiated off of him in waves.
“Be ready to fight,” Corbbmacc breathed.
She turned toward the sound of the voices and thudding footsteps, still muffled by the closed doors. Anxiety roiled inside her. How many people were out there? Too many, by the sound. Far too many.
“How is this possible?” a deep male voice demanded. He had an accent that, to Emily’s ears, sounded like the bastard child of French and Spanish. “All the subjects are ’ccounted for. No one is missing. This is a waste of time.”
“Do you doubt me, Captain?” the wraith asked. The footfalls stopped just outside the door.
“No, of course not,” the man said, sounding distinctly unnerved. “But are you sure of what you…uh…saw? Perhaps you were mistaken.”
“I was not mistaken. But you need not take my word for it. Open the door and see for yourself.”
Haven Lost Page 29