Melianarrheyal

by G. Deyke

  ~*~

  The cave's entrance is a large black hole in the sand, longer across than Ty is tall. The sand is deep, and if there is rock beneath it it is swallowed by darkness.

  “Is this it?” asks Mel, clearly uncertain. Her doubt tastes clear and sharp. I shrink back a little, and I must remind myself that I did what she asked, that if she is disappointed it is not because of me. I nod. “The Desert-folk use a rope to go down,” I say.

  “We have none.”

  “There is sand at the bottom,” I tell her. “The landing will be soft, if we leap.”

  “Scared, noble?” Ty mocks. “Your dog survived the cave once, and worse prepared than we; do you think you can't do the same?” And then he is gone, down the hole.

  “What, are you a dog?” Mel laughs, but her eyes are still uncertain. “Well, it is a good enough name for you. But you are my dog, and I shall take care of you, as I have done so long – only find me the way.”

  I ask, “Are you my flower, then?”

  “Don't be foolish,” she says, putting a hand to the scar at her cheek. “You cannot own a person, Arri. Now go, and lead the way.”

  I leave my stick lying on the sand. I am afraid that it may hit Ty, or myself, if I leap down holding it; and we must walk slowly in the darkness anyhow, so that Mel does not lose her way. My leg is already a little better, so perhaps I shan't need it anymore.

  I whistle to Snake for courage and leap down into the hole. For a moment I am reminded of my fall into the well, as the darkness rushes by me; then I sink into soft sand, alive and whole. My leg jostles painfully as I land, but not so painfully as it has done before. The splint holds it in place.

  I struggle out of the heap to make way for Mel. Ty stands there already, his arms crossed, waiting. I can see him by the dim light from above, but there is even blackness all around us.

  It is a longer moment than I had expected before Mel arrives. “Perhaps she was too afraid after all,” Ty remarks, watching the blue circle of sky, but then she falls through the hole and into the sand. She lands with a thump and slides down the pile to stand before us.

  The cave is more devoid of life than even the Desert. However much I strain my talent, I can sense only my own life and Mel's and Ty's. But there is something else in the river, a little ways away and out of sight: a strange sort of half-life, perhaps too great for my meager talent to understand. It is blessedly dark here and blessedly cool, cooler and darker than even a temple, but not quite cold.

  I almost feel safer here than anywhere else, and happier. A small part of me wishes I were here alone, because the world in which Mel and I are friends is not the same world as the one in which I belong to this darkness. It feels wrong. I try to shake this feeling aside; Mel is my friend and I will always be with her.

  “It is... very dark,” she says. I nod, and at once I feel foolish, for perhaps she can't even see my nod in this darkness.

  “How are we to walk?” she asks. “How shall we keep from stumbling? I have no candles with me, nor a lamp.”

  I remember that I am better accustomed to darkness than they are, for I have lived in tunnels all my life and am half-blind besides. Of course Mel cannot see in this gloom. We need the water.

  My stomach clenches now that this moment is come. I whistle to Snake for comfort and calm. I whistle to Snake for protection. I say: “The water.”

  “You aren't starting that again?” Mel demands. “The water cannot glow, Arri. You are lying or you are deceiving yourself – and I very much hope, for your sake, that you are not lying to me.”

  I shake my head miserably. “I am not lying,” I whisper. “I am not lying.” I will not lie to Mel. I do not ever like lying, and I have never done it well, but especially to Mel I will not lie.

  “Perhaps you might see the water with your own eyes before you judge whether your dog is telling the truth?” Ty says. I wish I could shut out his voice. I wish I could stop him. No one must speak to Mel in that way.

  She makes no response, but I can feel her seething in fury beside me. When she speaks her voice is tight with loathing. “Arri,” she says, “if you could lead the way perhaps? After all you know these caves. Show us this shining water of your dreams.”

  A small, rebellious part of me is hurt by her words, by her quick contempt for my story, and I wonder if Ty's constant accusations are beginning to sway me. I push the feeling aside very quickly. Mel is my friend; I will not let Ty pull us apart.

  “Come,” I say, and move forward, keeping one hand on the wall for guidance. I can smell wet stone ahead of me somewhere, and I follow the scent. “Come,” I call, and “come,” again, every few steps, and they follow along behind me.

  Behind me I can hear Ty making some comment to Mel, but I cannot hear the words. The cave and the sound of the river twist the sounds and drown them. Her reply is low and ireful.

  “Come,” I call again, rounding a bend. The river is before me, as bright as I remember it. It shines from within, a blue-white glow, barely touched by green, and the flecks of foam upon it are mere dark shadows rushing by. It lights the cave quite well enough to see by, although the far edges are dark and shadowed.

  “Impossible,” says Mel behind me. “How can this be? Why did I never hear of this?” She strides to the river and peers into its shining depths. “Impossible,” she murmurs again. “You drank this when you were here before, yes?”

  I nod. “And the Desert-folk use it in times of drought. The water is safe.”

  “Good.” She fills her waterskin, and Ty fills his. I slake my own thirst, carrying the water to my mouth with my hands.

  “What is this?” Mel cries out suddenly. “The water is turned dark!” Her eyes are on the skin, not the river, and I recall that only a living thing can lift the water and keep the glow intact.

  “It is no wonder that I never heard of this, if it loses its light when lifted,” she says. “Perhaps the people of Qualin do not even know the nature of their water. But then...” she looks around, and sees that there is more than one passage from this place. “Do we follow the river?”

  I shake my head. “No, not now,” I say. “The right path is not always along the river.”

  She tries to lift the water with her hands – the light dies out as she touches it. I am distressed to see it darken. What reason has the Queen to favor me and not Mel? Surely she is more worthy. She is the best person I know. She saved me from the wrathful merchant before she even knew me. Surely the Queen must reward such kindness? But the water spills clear and dark from her fingers.

  It must be that the Queen of the Dark-dust disapproves of Mel's mission. No other explanation could make sense. The child is blessed and chosen and destined for something greater: perhaps the Queen wishes it alive. No matter, then. I knew already that fate frowns on the mission, and I will help Mel all the same, if I can.

  “Arri!” Mel calls me, her tone unusually sharp. “Perhaps with your nature sense you can keep the water alight. Try.”

  Perhaps that is all. Perhaps my nature sense is the only reason I do not kill the light. Perhaps the Desert-folk were wrong. But if these waters are sacred, I doubt that the Queen of the Dark-dust would allow more light to those with a nature talent than to those without it – we are all equal before her.

  I cup my hands and lift the water. It dims distinctly to a wan, almost yellowish green that scarcely illuminates my own face, but it does not die.

  “Good,” she says. There is relief in her voice – I suppose she must have worried that the darkness would slow us. Perhaps she is so unused to walking without light that she thought she might stumble or lose me. Still, I am surprised. If it were anyone but Mel, I might think they were afraid at the thought of darkness; but Mel does not fear.

  “Scared?” Ty mocks again.

  “If you think wanting to see where one puts one's feet is a sign of fear, please feel free to walk in darkness,” she tells him. “With so dim a light, you needn't lag far behind to do so.”
/>   “Gladly,” he says, and he stays well behind us. He walks so silently, or so far behind, that I cannot hear his footsteps at all. I might not know he was there if I did not feel him with my nature talent and if he did not speak every so often.

  I hear no complaint from him, nor any sign that he stumbles, so it seems he has almost as little need of light as I do. At first this surprises me a little. But I do not know what he has done for most of his life, and I suppose he has had plenty of time in which to learn to walk in darkness. Perhaps he has done this sort of thing before.

  I must lead the way, because I know which paths to take and because I have the light; but I am unused to preceding Mel, and I do not like the feeling. It would be a terrible affront to make a noble follow kretchin, if there was any other way.

  When the path is broad enough, she walks beside me; when it is not, she walks as close behind me as she can without touching me. She seems loath to step into shadow. The light we have is so dim that she must be very near me for it to light her way at all.

  I don't know how long we must walk through these endlessly twisting passages. There is no night or day here, only gentle darkness. We rest when Mel tires, always trying to sleep just around a bend from the river – so that we can rest in darkness but have light as soon as we wake – and we start off again when she is ready.

  It must have been weeks that I spent here before; but then, I didn't know the right way. Still, that memory leaves me with no clear idea of how long we will be here this time. It could be two days, or ten, or twenty. I hope it is not too long, for Mel's sake; the mission must not be delayed.