Hope is lost, Epher thought. All light fades.
With a flutter of wings, a single dove flew above him, fleeing the city, then glided into the distance.
"The dove is fleeing," said Olive.
"And the eagles fly forth," Epher replied.
Cries rose across Beth Eloh. Great bells clanged in the Temple, their peal rolling across the city. Horns blared. Drums beat. Warriors shouted, sandals clattered, armor chinked. They ran up the walls—thousands of Zoharite warriors, gleaned from the ravaged hosts, from Zohar's Blade, from simple homes across the city. They wore what armor they had: scaled tunics forged in the city smithies, breastplates plundered from the legions, boiled leather sewn with rusty iron rings, or mere slats of iron and tin cobbled across tunics. Men and women stood side by side, some old and white-haired, others mere boys, too young to grow beards. They covered the walls of the city, a last ring of lions defending their den.
Closer they marched, the legions of Aelar, the military machine that had subjugated the world. They moved with precision, not a footfall out of place. Every suit of armor was alike, every spear glinted, every shield displayed the eagle symbol. Epher counted five Aquilae among them—great standards topped with golden eagles, idols of war. Their chariots roared. Their catapults trundled forth. Along the roadsides, as they advanced, they paused to raise crosses, to nail up Zoharites they had captured along their path. The screams tore across the mountainsides.
Epher stood, gripping the hilt of his sword, its pommel shaped as a lion. Olive stood at his side, a dagger in each hand, a sneer on her lips. Up the dirt road the legions marched, and they came to a halt just beyond the range of the city's arrows. Their drums ceased their beatings. Their horns fell silent. The screams of the crucified along the road died down to moans. From the imperial hosts rode forth a single chariot, a single Aelarian within it. Its four horses drew the Aelarian toward the Gate of Flowers.
Across the wall, soldiers drew back bowstrings. Epher held up his hand, holding off the volley.
"Wait," he said. "Wait."
The chariot rolled to a standstill outside the gate. A woman stood in the chariot, her armor gilded, her sword shining with jewels. She stared up at Epher and pulled off her helmet. Her brown hair spilled out, and she gave him a small smile.
In the eerie silence, her voice—even from the distance—sounded loud, as if she were once more holding him, speaking into his ear.
"Hello, Epher."
The world seemed to roll around him. If the walls themselves crumbled and the land opened up, Epher could not have felt more dismay. He met her eyes, and she gave him a small smile.
"Claudia," he said.
OFEER
She knelt in the dungeon, knees against the craggy floor, her ankle chained to the wall. Rats scurried around her, and her child kicked in her belly, and Ofeer forced herself to take deep breaths, to quell the fear inside her. A nightmare shot through her: that she would go into labor here in this dungeon, that her child would emerge onto the sticky floor, that the rats would—
No.
Ofeer forced another deep breath and loosened her fists, realizing that she'd been digging her fingernails into her palm.
I have a skeleton key, she told herself. I can escape this place. I can find the imperial lumer, and soon all the lumers will rise in rebellion.
She knew that she could trust Noa. The young lumer had saved Ofeer's life and the life of her child. Noa had sent her on this quest, and Ofeer would complete it. She would not let Noa, her homeland, and her family down.
She whispered the words the lumer had told her, the words Ofeer had memorized and recited countless times. "They'll lock you in the dungeon. Use the key. Leave your cell. Find the tunnel that leads deeper. Open the door. Find the lumer. Give her your lume. Open the trapdoor in her cell, crawl through the pipe, and you'll emerge outside the Acropolis walls."
Ofeer's breath shuddered. Well, she had completed the first part at least. She was here in the dungeon. The Magisterian Guard had locked her here hours ago, just as Noa had foreseen. That just left using the key. Leaving her cell. Finding a tunnel. Finding a door. Finding the lumer. Giving her lume. Finding a trapdoor. Crawling through a pipe to freedom.
In the shadows of the cell, the words all seemed to twist and coil in Ofeer's mind. Wait. Had she gotten the order right? Did she seek a tunnel first? Or a trapdoor? When was she supposed to crawl?
"Calm yourself, Ofeer." She inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring. "Calm yourself. You know what to do. You can do this. It's all going according to plan."
The wooden door of her prison cell rose before her, scratched by the previous prisoners' fingernails. Ofeer stood up and peered through the small, barred window in the door. Outside in the corridor, she could still see the guard pacing.
I just have to wait until he needs to piss, she thought. Or until the guards shift. Then I can use my key. Then I can escape.
She touched her collar, not yet daring to open it. Soon. Soon.
As the guard paced outside, Ofeer paced her cell. It was a small, dank place, about as wide as she was tall. Her chain clanked, running from her ankle to a ring in the wall. The bricks rose around her, and only the lantern in the hallway outside cast its dim light. The rats kept scurrying, passing back and forth through a hole in the wall. One of the creatures carried a bone in its jaws; it looked sickeningly like a human finger bone. It came to sniff at her, its whiskers jabbing her leg, and Ofeer kicked it aside in disgust.
"I don't have to fear this place," Ofeer whispered to herself. "I survived the port of Gefen. I survived slavery. I will survive this. I—"
A scream rose through the dungeon, echoing, then faded to weeping and whimpers. A man laughed. Ofeer froze, and the scream returned.
"Please, master!" cried a man. "Please, not—" The scream rose again.
Ofeer sat down and covered her ears and screwed her eyes shut. Even from here she could smell the blood and shit and fear. The whole dungeon was rank with it. She wondered if they would torture her too before she could escape, and her breath rose to a pant, and she wanted to place her hands on her belly, to comfort her child, but that would leave her ears free, and the screams kept rising, and—
No. Stop. Control your thoughts. Control your breathing.
Ofeer forced her mind away from this dungeon, from the stench, from the screams. She returned her thoughts to Zohar, to her home across the sea. She pretended that she lay in her old bed, that Maya lay at her side. The ivy would be growing through the window shutters, casting dapples of dawn across the tiled floor, the shelves of scrolls, and the dolls Ofeer would tend to. Soon Ofeer would rise from bed, eat breakfast with her family—fresh eggs, tangy cheese, and bread dipped in olive oil—then work in the vineyard. How she had hated working in the vineyard! The sun would keep tanning her, only making her darker, and Ofeer hated being so dark, hated feeling like a Zoharite. She had always wanted to be pale and beautiful like an Aelarian.
Yet now, here in the dungeon, Ofeer had never felt so connected to Zohar. She even missed working in the vineyard, feeling the sun bake her black hair, smelling the grapes and leaves and soil. Then, when her work was done, she would run down to the sea. She would walk alone on the sand, collecting seashells—she had hundreds in her chamber—and then strip naked in the sunset and swim, just swim as the sun painted the water gold, rising and falling with the waves. Some nights she had slept on the beach, trying to count the stars.
Ofeer could taste that salty sea again, and she realized that she was weeping, that her tears flowed down to her lips.
"I miss you, my family," she whispered.
She would have given anything—the very palace of Aelar—to hug her mother again. To speak to Jerael and tell him she was sorry. To learn from Epher's wisdom, laugh with Koren, learn from Atalia to swing a sword.
"And to see you again, Maya," Ofeer said. "To hug you. To tell you that I love you. That I'm so sorry."
She rubbed her eyes. Tears
would not help her now. There was only one way to save her home, to save her family, to see them again. She had to reach the imperial lumer, to give her more lume from Zohar--the lume that still clung to Ofeer like pollen. Only thus could the lumer light a beacon, broadcast a signal to a hundred lumers around the sea. A call to rise up. To topple the Empire. To save the light of Zohar. Perhaps, if the rebellion succeeded, Ofeer might even have time to sail back to Zohar, to give birth back home, to raise her child far from this hive of blades and buzzards and blood.
She peered again between the bars worked into the door's small window. The guard paced down the hall, then vanished around a corner—perhaps gone to relieve himself.
It was time.
"Use the key," Ofeer whispered, repeating Noa's words. "Leave your cell. Find the tunnel that leads deeper. Open the door. Find the lumer. Give her your lume. Open the trapdoor in her cell, crawl through the pipe, and you'll emerge outside the Acropolis walls."
Ofeer pressed the secret button on the collar Noa had given her, snapping it open, and pulled it off her neck. With another click, the key emerged—a key forged with Luminosity, able to open any lock. She held her breath as she placed the key into the manacle around her ankle, and fear flooded her that Noa had made a mistake, that the key would jam. She gave it a turn. The manacle would not open, and Ofeer's heart thrashed, and her fingers trembled. She gave the key another turn, jangling, praying . . . and the manacle snapped open. Her ankle was free.
She looked again through the bars. The guard was still gone around the corner, but she heard him humming a tune. Heart in her throat, Ofeer placed her key into the door's lock, shut her eyes, and gave a turn.
The lock gave a loud click.
Ofeer froze, sure the guard would hear, but he kept humming behind the corner. Ofeer pushed the door.
It creaked—loudly.
Ofeer froze, cringing. She sucked in breath. Her pulse pounded in her ears.
A scream rose across the dungeon again. "Please, masters! Please free me. Please! Mercy! Please!"
As the scream sounded, Ofeer shoved the door the rest of the way open, hiding the creaks.
She emerged into the corridor. Cells lined the walls, whimpers and screams rising from within them. According to Noa, the imperial lumer languished in a lower level, buried deep underground. Key in hand, Ofeer walked down the corridor, seeking a way down deeper.
As she walked, she couldn't help but glance into the cells alongside, and Ofeer cringed. Some prisoners clung to the barred windows, fingers missing their nails, eyes bloodshot. Some grinned madly, teeth gone from their gums. A few prisoners huddled at the back of their chambers. Ofeer could only make out raw, broken flesh, tortured with whips and fire.
Why did you send me here, Noa? Ofeer thought, the fear growing in her. Perhaps sensing her terror, the baby kicked in her womb. Ofeer swallowed and kept walking, and ahead she saw a staircase that plunged deeper. She stepped closer, barely daring to breathe, when the guard emerged from around the corner.
The man froze and stared.
He reached for his gladius.
Ofeer grimaced and fell to her knees.
"Please, dominus!" she cried out. "My baby is coming. My baby is coming!"
The guard's eyes widened. He hurried forward and knelt beside her. He stared at her belly.
"Fuck me," he whispered.
Thankfully, Ofeer had seen enough plays in her life to know something about acting.
"Please." She clasped his hand. "Please. You have to help me deliver him. He's coming out. Please—" She sat down, spread her legs, and let out a scream.
The guard knelt before her, dropping his sword, and stared between her legs. "What do I do?" he said. "I—"
Ofeer grabbed his sword, leaped up, and thrust the blade with a howl.
The iron slammed into his neck.
Eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, Ofeer shoved with all her might. The guard gurgled, wrapping his hands around the sword, and Ofeer kept shoving, cutting deeper, like cutting into raw steak, until finally the blade sank down to the hilt, emerging from the back of the man's neck.
She released the hilt and stumbled back, gasping for breath. The guard fell with a clatter and moved no more.
I killed a man. She took another step back, head spinning, feeling faint. I killed. I took a life. An innocent life.
She stumbled into the corner and vomited—a loud, painful, demonic expelling of her terror. She shuddered.
Keep going. For Zohar. For your son.
She gasped for breath, blood on her hands.
Hurry!
She leaned down. She tugged the sword free from the dead guard. She walked onward, stepped onto the staircase, and plunged deeper into the dungeon.
The staircase was so narrow her shoulders brushed against the walls. The darkness soon became complete, and Ofeer cursed under her breath, wishing she had a candle or lamp. She held one hand against the wall, and she pointed her sword forward, slicing the shadows. She forced herself to walk slowly, to feel for each step. With a child inside her, she could not risk a fall. It seemed the passage of eras before the staircase finally ended, and Ofeer found herself walking down a narrow corridor. Here too the darkness was complete, and she kept her hand against one wall. The way was so narrow she could barely squeeze through, and the brick walls rubbed against her arms and hips. Soon she was walking hunched over, the ceiling brushing her head.
Finally—Ofeer imagined that she had walked so far she'd emerge in Zohar—she saw a faint glow ahead. It was no brighter than a candle, but after so long in darkness, it was beautiful as dawn over the desert. Ofeer walked closer and reached the end of the tunnel. A door stood here, worked into the stone. The faint glow emerged from beneath it. A foul odor rose here too, and Ofeer covered her nose as she walked.
The glow of luminescence, she thought.
With a trembling hand, she placed her key into the lock and opened the door.
She stepped inside, and her eyes dampened, and sadness flowed through her like cold water through sand.
A woman lay here on a stained bed, her limbs tied to the posts. She was skeletal and naked, her pale skin infected with oozing sores. Her hair was wispy and gray, her face cadaverous, little more than a skull draped with skin. Maggots squirmed across the bed and over the woman's legs. The chamber reeked of human waste, of rot, of disease.
The imperial lumer, Ofeer knew.
She lowered her head, suddenly all her worries seeming inconsequential. All she had suffered—Seneca's advances, her slavery, her homelessness in Aelar—all seemed like a garlic's peel by this misery, by this inhuman suffering.
She approached the bed, barely able to breathe the noxious air. The imperial lumer opened rheumy eyes—they seemed so large in her gaunt face—and gazed at her.
"Hello, Ofeer Sela," the diseased woman whispered.
Ofeer glanced behind her at the doorway, waiting for guards to appear at any moment. As soon as the dead man was discovered, no place would be safe. Hurriedly, Ofeer returned to the imperial lumer, lowered her sword, and sawed through the ropes binding the woman to the bed.
"Noa sent me," Ofeer said. "The rebellion must begin. You—"
"I know, child," whispered the lumer, voice hoarse. Three teeth were missing from her mouth. Even with the ropes cut, she still lay abed, limbs spread out. "I see all through the Luminosity. But I have not been to Zohar in years, and my lume is all but gone."
Ofeer nodded and knelt by the bed. "Noa claims that some lume still clings to me, like sand after a day at the beach. I was in Zohar only half a year ago, and since then, Noa infused me with even more lume when healing me."
The imperial lumer struggled to move an arm, coughed, breathed heavily. "Help me . . . Help me sit up. For the first time in years, help me sit up."
When Ofeer placed her arms around the lumer, she could feel the bones beneath the skin, as brittle as the bones of birds. The lumer seemed to weigh almost nothing. Her joints creaked and her sor
es bled as Ofeer helped her sit up. Her hip bones thrust out, and her shoulder blades were like rancid wings. Ofeer removed her tunic, remaining in her undertunic, and wrapped the linen around the skeletal lumer.
As the lumer wheezed, rage filled Ofeer. Rage that the Octavius family had treated this woman like an animal. Nobody deserved such torture. Ofeer thought back to the dog on Pine Hill, the one Maya had healed, only for Seneca to later shoot it dead. Perhaps death would be a mercy for souls so ravaged.
For a long moment, the lumer merely breathed, ribs rising and falling. Ofeer kept glancing at the door.
"We must hurry," she said. "What do I do?"
"Hold my hand," rasped the lumer.
Ofeer held the woman's thin hand, like holding a bird's talon. The lumer raised her other hand, joints creaking, and placed it against Ofeer's cheek. Her eyes closed.
"Remember, child," the lumer whispered. "Remember Zohar."
Ofeer thought back to her home. Lighting candles on Restday beneath a painting of elephants. The song of timbrels and lyres as maidens danced on grapes, as young men came to seek brides among them. Pilgrimages to Beth Eloh, the roads thick with travelers bringing produce and livestock to the ancient city. The cobbled streets of Beth Eloh that snaked between countless homes, the sun gleaming on bronze and gold domes, and the song of rams' horns from the Temple.
Yet those memories began fading, like dreams melting under sunlight. She could barely cling to them, and fear filled Ofeer that she would forget her homeland, that she would forget herself, after so many years of struggling to understand who she was. When she opened her eyes, she saw that luminescence spread across the imperial lumer. Already some of her pallor left her, and her eyes shone. Slowly, this ancient and ravaged woman rose to her feet, and the light intensified, wreathing across her, cloaking her with grace. In the light, an astral figure appeared, overlaying the ruin of a woman, and Ofeer saw a hint, like a reflection in a pool, of who she had been—a beautiful woman with flowing dark hair, a woman of Zohar, rising from the desert.
Temples of Dust (Kingdoms of Sand Book 4) Page 21