The dull thud of an oar hitting land reverberated through the wood of the boat and she grasped onto the edge in reflex as it rocked through the motions. Jorkell only made the shaking worse when she crawled towards the front of the boat so she could jump out, splashing Kilai with cold water, and then she hauled it up to the edge of the rock. They each climbed out one by one, Kilai gripping tight onto Jorkell’s hand to help steady her feet against the wet rock.
Panting once she reached the top, she wiped back the hair that had fallen from her braid around the crown of her head and peered down into the next cavern, following the brush of the lantern’s touch to see more water glistening with orange fire. “Why is there more water?” she said, looking back to see if they were taking the boat with them. Dimly, she could make out Makku tying a rope around a stalagmite to moor it.
Yejah turned to her with a grim look. “We probably should have asked you beforehand if you could swim.”
“You have got to be joking.”
Kilai could swim; one could only spend so much time around water without learning how to manage her limbs enough to keep her afloat. That did not mean she was particularly good at it.
“It isn’t far,” said Kallan. “You will not have to hold your breath for long.”
“It’s dark down there. I won’t be able to see!”
A hand clapped her shoulder and she stifled a scream, whipping around to glare at Makku’s grin shining in the light. “It’s an adventure.”
“This is ridiculous. Surely there must be another way to get to where we’re going?”
Yejah swung the lantern up to grimace at her, the glass box creaking against the metal hook. “It’s really not as bad as it looks,” she said, but her dubious expression looking upon the black pool of water belied her words.
“I will go first,” said Jorkell, shrugging out of her jacket and placing it upon a rock. She slid down the rock and then splashed into the water, boots and all. Her head bobbed up from the surface, swiping water from her eyes. She waved at them and then ducked back under, kicking up a splash to propel herself under the rock. The black waves swallowed her down, settling until there was no evidence she had been there at all.
Kilai’s hand went to her shirt, knuckles tight as she clenched it into the coarse fabric. It had been a gift from the captain because she possessed so little now, the turtle pin roped around her neck the only remaining artefact of home.
Kallan went next, leaving her bandanna beside Jorkell’s jacket. Without a word, she slipped easily into the water, only glancing back once before she dove under, disappearing beneath the waves. It left the three of them, gathered around the safety of the small pool of amber gold, as they stared down into the swirling water left in Kallan’s wake.
“Come on, then,” said Makku, prodding her between the shoulder blades.
She threw him a look.
Makku threw up his palms. “Hey, you asked to come along, didn’t you? Don’t blame me.”
“All right, all right, just – help me, will you?”
“I wasn’t just going to leave you.” Makku started to climb down the rock surface, then stretched his hand out so she could hold on and step down bit by bit, taking care to find dips for her footing before she put her weight onto it. On the last foothold her boot slipped and she tumbled into the shock of icy water. Scrambling, surrounded by blackness all around her, she clawed her way to the surface, gasping.
“Are you all right?” called Yejah, peering down.
Kilai coughed, elbowing Makku when he laughed at her. Her lungs felt raw and she was gripped with a full body shudder, trying not to think about what might be lurking below. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“Yeah, you’ll be saying that a lot if you stay with us. You ready?”
“Wait, but how will I know where to go?”
“When the moon’s out there should be a little light coming through. It’s a pretty straight tunnel.”
Kilai nodded, steeling her nerve. The more time she spent in the water, the more it numbed her to every sensation, including fear. Her teeth chattered, the sound loud over the lapping water. “Let’s get this over with.”
Makku huffed a laugh. “All right, follow my lead.” Then he made a neat dive into the water, legs flipping up as he kicked down and splashed her in the face.
Spluttering, Kilai plunged down after him. She fought the instinct to panic, lungs already constricting without air, and kicked herself forwards until her outspread fingers scraped against the slimy surface of the rock beneath. Pulling herself through, she blinked against the stinging saltwater, barely able to see a thing. The cold burned as much as the lack of air and no matter how much she tried to repress it, her mind kept swinging back to thoughts of drowning down here in this cavern.
But then a glimmer of silvery light caught her blurred vision and she grasped onto it like a woman spying an oasis in the desert. The stone scraped her hands as she clawed out in the dark, saltwater burning her eyes. Her lungs were tight and she had to fight her every instinct to gasp for air. She hadn’t realised how narrow the tunnel was, closing in around her from all sides, her legs kicking against rock as she wriggled through. Then suddenly her limbs were stretching out in open water, fingers of light streaking through from above.
The surface shimmered tantalisingly and her movements grew more frantic with desperation as she swam towards it. Her chest trembled, mouth already open in anticipation of the air she craved, saltwater streaming in. As Kilai’s head broke from the pool she gasped too quickly, swallowing gulps of the water, and she sputtered and coughed, treading the surface. The world around her was a blur, eyes streaming. She felt like she was hacking up the contents of her insides, throat as rough as cut glass.
A hand grasped her arm and tugged her to the safety of the rock at the side of the pool. Regaining the ability to breathe, lungs raw, Kilai wiped at her eyes before lugging her sopping wet body out onto dry land. A shiver ran through her, hair dripping down onto skin raised in gooseflesh.
“Where – where are we?” she croaked.
Above them the cavern had opened up above, moonlight spilling down upon them and bathing everything in an eerie, washed out glow. Beyond her makeshift perch on a hunk of rock pillars stretched up to the cavern walls, carvings shining with silver light streaming in from the hole in the ceiling. Time had chipped and eroded them down, all sinking lopsided into the ground, but they were still magnificent to gaze upon. Clambering to her feet, she barely registered Yejah swimming through the water behind her, or the call of voices, completely absorbed in the structure before her.
Torches upon the walls had been lit in consecutive places between the pillars, the flames bouncing off the walls and silhouetting the figures gathered up ahead. Two statues guarded the point where the cave widened out into a larger room, one cleaved in half so that only the legs remained. The other was so worn the features were barely discernable, the nose broken off.
“What do you think? Pretty cool, huh?”
Kilai jumped, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. She turned to glare at Makku, a hand upon her chest over her thumping heart. “It’s all a bit much, is it not?” she said, although she was sure the way she couldn’t stop staring betrayed her. “Why in the Locker are we going through all this farce?”
Makku gestured with a hand and she gave a put upon sigh before following him towards the crowd, wringing out her hair as she walked. Murmured voices added to the strange atmosphere of the temple, almost as if monks were chanting in prayer nearby. For a moment she could picture it when she reached the centre of the temple, the grounding falling away below into a large perfectly circular pool of sparkling blue water. Water streamed down from all sides and from the back wall it poured from a hole in the ceiling, moonlight shining through the smooth plane cascading down the wall. Carvings had been etched into the stone here too but she could not discern anything about them in the dim light.
A series of steps led down on each side towards a
small raised plateau within the pool of water. In the centre, glowing in the pale light of a crescent moon above, was a tablet almost identical to the one she had seen in the temple on the uninhabited island off Nirket’s rocky shore. She stopped by the first step, gazing down. It felt like she had blinked away the time in between then and now, suddenly thrust into a very different world, standing there as a completely different self. The old Kilai would not recognise this woman, she thought, traipsing through underground caverns for reasons beyond her.
“The weapons reached us on time,” she heard a voice say and she turned to see a man of perhaps Kallan’s age, his lined face caught between the interplay of golden flames to one side and the bleaching of the moon to the other. A scar ran across one cheek, cutting into a thick brow.
“I am pleased to hear it, Nogan,” said Kallan. “How are things here now? I heard from Shanti in Korrikbai that it’s been getting worse.”
“There’s no peace anymore,” said Nogan, voice deep over the trill of trickling water. “Curfews get more restrictive but we’re all expected to cower and simper.” He spat. “A group of them beat up one of Pylka’s young boys for daring to speak his mind. Left him with so many broken bones the old sawbones doesn’t think he’ll walk properly anymore.”
Yejah tittered sympathetically. Kallan’s mouth tightened into a thin line. It was in the ensuing lull in conversation that Kilai noticed the gun strapped to his back and the two pistols holstered at his waist. His two companions bore a similar arsenal of weaponry and she thought she even glimpsed the winking of steel in the moonlight when one shifted her weight. A weight dropped in her gut as the pieces began to knit together in her mind.
“We need to talk communication channels,” said Nogan. “It gets harder to move unnoticed.” He began to walk, Kallan by his side, towards a door to the side that Kilai had not noticed because she had been so distracted by the water feature.
Following behind their small party, she listened into the conversation as they traversed another dark tunnel, keeping close to Yejah’s lantern to stop herself slipping on the wet stone underfoot. Behind her, Jorkell’s heavy footfalls made up the rear, water splashing in the puddles beneath her boots. The scent of damp and mildew gave way to a fresh breeze, and still soaked through, Kilai shivered as it hit her skin.
“You are sure you were not watched?” said Kallan.
Nogan looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “Are you?”
“There are men guarding the ship as we speak. They will warn us if we are spotted. There are easier ways to get into Baikath, Nogan, but I take no chances.”
The man huffed. “I don’t have much of the stuff with me. It was hard to take without getting caught. Stealing is a hangable offence these days. No trial.”
Kilai badly wanted to ask but she did not want to draw attention to herself so she kept quiet. Moonlight was spilling into the tunnel, as was a more vicious wind, howling as it swirled inside and tugged at her damp hair. Makku rubbed his hands together beside her and she could hear the clatter of chattering teeth although she did not know who they belonged to. It seemed there was more than one way to enter the temple, begging the question why they had to risk illness to do so.
But then she stepped out of the shelter of the tunnel, wind barrelling into her with enough force to send her careening into Yejah. Kilai steadied herself and then helped Yejah, the lantern in her hands swinging wildly. The icy grip of the wind barely registered because her eyes were drawn to the smattering of lights below. For they were far above the village she gazed at, surrounded by darkness but for the faint sheen of moonlight upon the rock around her. Exposed to the elements, the gusts grew worse, all of them huddled together for shelter.
A scrambling noise set the members from the village on edge, all three of them drawing guns, until a young man appeared, hands rising in innocence. “It’s just me,” he said. “Nogan told me to come.”
Nogan nodded and the group collectively drew a breath, lowering their guns. “The ecore,” he said. “You brought it?”
The man rifled through his satchel for a moment before drawing forth a glowing blue object. Subconsciously, Kilai stepped forward to get a better look. It appeared to be a jar, filled with liquid that shined in the darkness, thick and gloopy as he tilted it in both hands.
“Stop that,” scolded Nogan, taking it from him.
Makku peered over his shoulder, eyes wide. “What is that?”
Nogan’s eyes fell upon the village lights below, like bright stars against a midnight sky. “This may be the key to our victory.”
Kilai couldn’t take her eyes off it. What victory it would be the key to, she could only begin to guess.
*
Water splashed beneath his feet as he stalked through back alleys and side streets, hood shrouding his face from view. Vallnor had never known this life but he found instincts within him he never knew he possessed, buried deep under his immediate desire to be out of the rain that had not stopped pouring from the heavens since he had taken a boat back to the main island of Tsellyr. Fyera had been pestering him about inviting Sandson to their returning party because she believed they had fostered some kind of connection simply by having met once. But she would be furious if she knew he had sneaked out of the palace without attendants to watch over him. Vallnor was a prince; he didn’t need the protection of some simpering sycophants she had hired under the illusion that things were as they had once been.
Yelling sounded from a door ahead, startling him as a man stomped onto the street, screaming up at the window above. A woman was hanging over the sill, a basket of linens dangling precariously on the ledge beside her, matching his ire with a stream of profanity that made even Vallnor pause. Mercifully neither of them paid him any heed as he ducked his head and slipped past, somehow knowing how to keep himself unobtrusive despite the fine cloak he wore, having had little else to hide his identity.
The rain pattered against his hood, dancing off the streets. The water in the canals trembled beneath the force of such a downpour, thousands of tiny needles piercing the surface at once until it rippled out towards the sides. He lowered his head so as to miss his distorted reflection in the wet ground, stamping out his face before his eyes could linger upon it. His features had changed and a part of him could not help but think Viktor whenever he saw them. It was ridiculous – he was merely a street rat who had hosted the vessel within which Vallnor had slept dormant – and yet, he could not shake the sensation that the face he wore was not his own.
Not yours. Mine.
Vallnor shook his head, damp locks smacking against his forehead. His hair was getting long. He had been ready to snip it himself until Fyera had found him with a pair of scissors above his head and flew into a manic outburst about keeping up appearances for their re-emergence into society. All this farce around some party was driving him stir crazy, skin itching from doing nothing but waiting, or presenting himself for more gawping nobles who were stunned by the fire he could conjure at will like he was some thrilling trained monkey.
Let them gape. Vallnor was more than capable of sneaking under the Sonlin’s watch, especially on a day like this, where the rain had driven everyone inside for shelter. With the clouds roiling above, black and swollen, he thought there might be another storm. There seemed to be many this time of year, as the high season gradually passed the mantle over to the low season and the cooler temperatures began to seep in. After the reaping season came the storm season, as the sailors named it. The time when travel by sea was at its most dangerous.
When Vallnor reached the centre of the city, he crept around the side of the sprawling expanse of the city hall where the mayor’s office was situated, the tiered white structure reflecting off the wet ground. Somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind he had mapped out this building, an instinct of a mind sharpened by constant fear and hunger into a creature of vigilance. Viktor – or rather, Vallnor, he scolded himself sharply – had noted that one of the lower windows had
been damaged and as such could not be latched properly. It took him a few times trudging up and down, squinting at each of them, before his dusty mind remembered where it had been located.
Checking every which way to ensure he was not being watched, Vallnor hauled himself onto the window and jangled at the latch but it did not give. He flicked out a knife he had taken from the kitchen out of a habit he hadn’t been aware he possessed. Not caring to dwell on why, he jammed it into the slight gap and used it to pry the window open, gritting his teeth as the rusted hinges fought him. With a heavy exhale, he pulled it open far enough for him to shimmy through, sighing when his cloak caught on the latch. He yanked on it until it ripped, scowling.
The ruined fabric put him in a sour mood, stomping down the corridor with his boots squelching against the shiny floor, uncaring of who spotted him. At first disorientated by the crescent shape of the building, he found the memories in his feet rather than his head, trotting towards Sandson’s office when he heard the voices. Ducking into the alcove where the double doors lay and then pressing himself to the wall behind a potted plant with exotic fronds that stretched outwards, he cocked his head and listened in.
“… can easily remove you if you do not show cooperation. Don’t you forget that.” The voice was loud, feminine, and spoke in the common Sonlin tongue.
The other voice he could barely discern, words spoken too softly. He found himself creeping closer to try and hear the conversation, gently pressing his ear to the wood of the door.
“Don’t give me more sweet words, Sandson! I have enough to deal with right now. We’ve had shipments intercepted, soldiers gunned down in their damned sleep and you have the audacity to talk about what the people want! I don’t care. I want their heads and I want them on a spike.”
Vallnor felt himself go cold, body freezing. If only she knew he was standing right out the door, one of the most wanted criminals by the Empire, and the fire prince reborn. If only she knew she would be drowning in the sweet, sweet irony of it. A significant part of him desired to sweep into the room right there and then just to see the look of shock on her face as soon as he conjured the first spark of green flame in his hand. Oh, what a delight it would be. But, no, he was not here to draw attention to himself no matter how much he might want to. So he kept quiet, listening to the rumble of Sandson’s voice through the wood of the door, something about having been nothing but cooperative and if there was anything else she needed, he would be happy to help.
The Rising Tide Page 7