Obsidian (27 page)

Lucio nodded. He rose, went to the edge of the firelight, and began pacing. Teehma assumed that he was taking Sirin’s suggestion literally. She groaned and stretched out under Sirin’s cloak. Maybe she’d say a prayer to the stars as she drifted off to sleep. Just to make the old primate happy.

CHAPTER TWENTY

A few hours after Kynell had appeared at the Stoa, Alisha, after her own tearful goodbye to her son, made the children bid their farewells to Wake. She had heard rumors of Kynell’s arrival, but it seemed too good to be true. Those who remained above ground had heard the story, as well, but theirs was a mixed reaction. Some dropped everything to race to the Stoa. Some stopped in the streets, as if paralyzed. The recent arrival of their loved ones and now Kynell’s coming had so stirred them that mundane matters like saving their lives had fled their minds completely. Only when another Risen One came along to hasten them on their way would they move. Alisha herself was just as torn. Was it possible that Kynell was here, in Lascombe? If the god of the Prysm had come, shouldn’t the whole city be on holy fire or something? Surely he wouldn’t just slip in, hiding among the Risen Ones?

She could not wrap her mind around it and she didn’t have time to try. Kynell knew she loved him; he knew how much she longed to see him. But he also knew that she couldn’t rush the children all over in search of him and get back to the evacuation tunnels before dawn. There was no doubt in her mind that her immediate duty was to Ester and Trint; it was Kynell who had given them to her, after all.

Her mind was made up, but she still had to pull Trint away from his father—a parting made worse by the fact that Wake could not assure his son that he would see him again soon. If the Prysm lost, he would be with Kynell. If the Prysm won, who knew? He would probably still be with Kynell. In the end, he had to assure his boy that one day, he
would
see him again—this he could promise, even though he might have to wait until Trint was a grown man for it to happen. It was also Ester’s ingenious idea that if Alisha could teach Trint how to write, he could write to his father whenever he wanted. Wake had jumped in. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to write back, he said, but he felt certain that Kynell would allow him to read Trint’s letters as often as he wrote them. To this plan, the distraught boy agreed.

Before they parted, Wake took him aside for one last discussion. Alisha watched them talk, holding Ester’s hand in her own. She kept seeing her own boy grown, happy, healthy. . .it had been wonderful to see him, but oh, how much harder it made tonight! Would he even miss her as he fought this battle? Would he die again? Would Tertio see him?

Wake was bringing Trint toward her. Trint was trying to look determined. When they were close enough, he took Ester’s hand from Alisha’s, as if he were the girl’s protector, not the other way around.

“Dad says you’ll be my mom an’ I need to listen to you.”

Alisha could see the tears he was trying to hide. Her instinct was to scoop him up and hold him close, but she knew that would be fatal to his young dignity. Instead, she nodded, gave Wake a short wave, then pulled the two children toward the nearest evacuation point.

Wake watched as they walked away, waving again every time Trint glanced back. When they turned the corner and moved out of his vision, he listened for wails or shouts of protest—ready, despite everything, to run back to his son. But he heard none, so he began jogging towards his post, weeping openly as he ran.

Alisha, meanwhile, tried not to think about the figure fading into the background, or of her son, or of her own parents, both of whom had determined to stay aboveground and fight, or of Tertio, who was only Kynell knew where. Perhaps he was with Kynell himself, if the rumors were true. Perhaps Kynell would end the battle before it even started. She hoped that would happen, and she glanced up at the sky in the hopes of seeing the coming dawn turn to brilliant white. But there were no dramatic changes to the sky, and she could hear shouts of alarmed men as they spied something from the top of the walls. The Obsidian army had been spotted, and whether Kynell was in the city or not, it was still coming.

She gripped her little cart of provisions tighter and pushed through the emptying streets. They were the last to descend into the same evacuation tunnel where she had earlier enlisted N’vonne’s services. The woman who was now guarding the entrance watched her come, not bothering to hide her relief. She had been anxious to close and seal the door before orbrise. Amid all of her chatter, Alisha made out that N’vonne had placed her under strict orders not to seal the door until the first missile struck or Alisha and her children were inside, whichever came first. The woman was grateful that she did not have to wait for the first occurrence.

Inside, a wide and well-paved tunnel sloped gently downward. Alisha had no problem maneuvering her cart down the broad street, although she had to pay close attention to her guide. The entrance-keeper carried the only light in the passageway. As they walked, the flames of the bright torch illuminated a series of doors on either side of them, each one made in the same fashion: thick, rough-hewn planks bound together with solid iron, hanging on massive hinges. Their only decorative element was a soft arch at the top. When Alisha asked what all the doors were for, their guide, Bertrice, said that they were mostly dead ends, meant to deceive invaders.

“Can I open one?” Trint asked. He had been terrified of the doors, but his confidence was increasing as one by one passed without anything jumping out to get him.

Bertrice hesitated, resting the end of the torch against her thin hip. “Sure. But make it quick.”

Before his courage could fail him, Trint ran over to a door and pulled on the handle. The door did not budge. He tried pushing, but even shoving his little shoulder against the wood failed to move it.

“It’s locked!”

Bertrice gave a wan smile, then continued walking. “They’re locked from the inside.”

Ester pursed her lips as she dragged Trint away from the door. He was still trying to figure out a way to open it. “How is that possible?” she asked.

“I said they were
mostly
dead ends. In the back of each is a small tunnel—barely a crawl space. Each crawl space leads out to another tunnel that runs parallel to this one. When the tunnels were carved and the doors put in place, many, many cycles ago, a team of eight munkke-trophes were assigned the job of crawling in and locking them on the inside. It was said that the task took them three days, though I think munkke-trophes will give you a different answer, if you ask them.”

Ester pursed her lips again. “If all of them are locked, wouldn’t it make it easier for the invaders to find the one that’s opened? The one that leads to us?”

Bertrice’s smile grew warmer, which was encouraging since the torchlight made her narrow face look very harsh. “You’re a smart girl. No, they’re not all locked. The idea was to get them to waste time smashing through the locks in some of the doors closer to the entrance. Eventually, of course, they would realize that all the doors lead to a dead end. So about halfway down. . .” She stopped and indicated a door on the left with her torch.

“Try that one, young man.”

Trint did so, and when he did, the door swung open. “Hey, it worked!”

“But if you were to follow that tunnel—which I don’t advise you to do—you would find that it leads into some pretty nasty curves and pitfalls. It could be very dangerous for you, or for anybody else who goes that way.”

“Like the ‘vaders?”

“Exactly. A couple of doors like this are hidden among the locked doors.” She continued walking as she spoke. “It’s almost impossible to tell which one is the right one.” After a few minutes, she paused in front of another door that looked like all the others.

“One hundred and fifty-seven doors down, on the left.”

“Pardon me,” Alisha had to ask as the woman produced an odd-shaped, thin sliver of metal, which she then slid between the door and the wall. The door clicked and swung open. “How do you know all of this?”

Bertrice ushered them into another, smaller dark tunnel. “Lascombe has always had women trained for a time such as this. No one, not even the king, knows all the secrets of these tunnels. But I do. So did my mother, and her mother before her. Someday, I hope to pass my secrets along to my daughter—or perhaps my niece.”

Trint’s voice dropped to a whisper. “There’re more secrets?”

“Oh yes. Many, many more. I would not advise wandering around these tunnels without a guide, young man.”

He nodded solemnly as she closed the door and they continued, passing yet more portals. These were open and cavernous, yet nobody asked what was beyond them. Even Alisha felt as if she had learned enough about the city’s subterranean world.

They began to hear voices. Alisha had been noticing for some time that the angle of their descent was steeper than at first. When they stopped at what looked like a sheer rock wall, she was surprised to hear the voices coming from above them. She looked up into the darkness, but could see nothing.

“You’ll want to put your cart here,” Bertrice said, pointing with her torch to a small platform with fence slats on its four sides. She removed one of the slats, helped Alisha load the cart, replaced the slat, and yanked four times (three quick, a long break, then a fourth) on the rope that connected the platform to some unseen point above.

To Alisha’s surprise and Trint’s delight, the rope became taut in response and the entire platform, cart and all, began to ascend until it disappeared into the darkness.

“Wow!” Trint exclaimed. “Can I ride?”

“No, you cannot.” Alisha responded, rather sharper than she was intending. “I mean, it looks your ride has already left. Maybe there’s another one.”

But Bertrice was shaking her head. “It’s the stairs for us.” She waved her torch to a spot of darkness on her left. The firelight revealed a narrow opening in the wall. “If you’re claustrophobic—that’s scared of tight places,” she added for Trint and Ester’s benefit, “I’m afraid this won’t be very pleasant for you. But it’s the only way up.” Then she disappeared into the cleft. Alisha, Ester, and Trint hastened to follow before she was too far gone, though they would have easily found their way: the cleft held nothing but a steep set of stairs with walls close on either side and no ceiling. These stairs went up in a straight line, with the exception of one sharp turn to the right.

Alisha, who did struggle with claustrophobia, concentrated on the voices, which were getting closer and closer. It also helped her to realize that there was nothing but empty space over her head. In fact, if she peered hard enough, she could just make out a distant glow of light above them. She would have commented on this, but they were all saving their strength for the climb. By the time the stairs stopped, even Bertrice was out of breath.

“This,” she gasped, “is Haven.”

The walls disappeared and the staircase turned into a flat surface. They found themselves standing on a giant field of stone, brightly lit, and populated by thousands of women, children, and elderly. The sudden sight of so many people was overwhelming; Trint hid behind Ester’s skirts and Alisha stepped instinctively in front of both children. Ester and Bertrice alone seemed unfazed.

“It’s very loud here,” Ester said, raising her own voice to be heard above the din. “Is that safe?”

“It can’t be helped,” Bertrice responded. “By the time the invaders make it to this point, it won’t matter. We’ll either be gone or be raining rocks down upon their heads.”

Ester smiled at the mental picture. “I wish I could see their faces if that happened.”

Bertrice ruffled her hair. “One day Kynell will restore your sight, my girl. And then think of all the things you’ll see!”

Ester nodded with enthusiasm and began passing a hand in front of her eyes as if the miracle had already been performed. Alisha, meanwhile, was looking around for a place to settle.

“Please, where can we put our things?”

“Just follow me,” Bertrice said. She began weaving her way through streets of barrels, tents, and even a few campfires. After about ten minutes of walking, during which Alisha completely lost her bearings, she stopped in front of a low canvas tent.

“The tents are helpful for privacy and warmth,” she explained, as if embarrassed by the redundancy of tents under a stone ceiling. “Just makes the place feel homier. This is your tent, number 4501. Remember that in case you get lost. Any woman with this on her sleeve,” she indicated a dull orange band that Alisha had not noticed before, “will help you find your way back. The dining tent is in the center of the residentials; it’s technically Number 5, but you won’t be able to miss it.” Indeed, as she pointed back over her left shoulder, Alisha could see the canvas peaks of a large pavilion. “There are waste houses not too far from the dining tent, and also at the end of every street. We are fortunate that Ruponi’s miners discovered ample amounts of trepofam down here, which dissolves human waste with minimal fumes. It’s even recyclable.”

Both Ester and Trint wrinkled their noses.

“Right, so those are the main things you need to know about. Women and healthy elderly are encouraged to volunteer at the dining tent or for refilling the W.H.’s with trepofam. The trepofam’s not as bad as it sounds—at least you’re not stuck in the kitchen all day. Children should consider it their duty to stay well behaved, clean up after themselves, and carry their own dishes to the dining tent and back. I believe that various streets have organized prayer meetings, as well, if that’s something you’d like to do. Oh, and one more thing.”