Remnants: Season of Fire (36 page)
“Now,” I grunted to my companions. We charged forward, shouting. I could see Dri’s dad rise, the guard’s long knife in his hand, and leap upon the closest, shocked guard, freeing his wife.
I felt the Sheolites’ eyes all turn toward me, but it was Andriana I watched, even as I turned, slammed the door shut, and rammed down the crossbar, then charged in to join the fight. Shock and confusion gave way to hope, and she moved as we had trained to do, season upon season, finally rising and taking down the guard to her right. My heart swelled with hope that together we just might make our way out of this hellish place.
I parried the sword of the Sheolite nearest her father and slammed a dagger into the belly of another who came up behind me, whirling to decapitate him. The Six were on their feet, drawing their own swords, shouting for aid. I had to get Dri and her parents out now. I’d decide where we were heading as soon as we made it outside. All I knew was that we had to break free of these before the other soldiers responded to the Six’s alarmed cries.
I tossed a dead man’s sword to Dri’s mom, and she caught
it and turned to strike Lord Fenris across the arm. He’d been moving to try to apprehend her. He gaped at the woman, as if he couldn’t quite comprehend that someone might dare to wound him — particularly a bedraggled, weakened woman.
“Look out!” I narrowly blocked Lord Broderick’s strike from ending Dri’s dad’s life, and the older man turned and buried his own sword in the second lord’s belly. Ten paces away, our allies killed a Sheolite together, one impaling him with his sword, the other severing his head. Dri’s dad turned toward me. “We must be away,” he panted.
Behind him, I saw Lord Cyrus thrust his sword through the back of a Sheolite, straight through the heart, and watched Lord Jala turn toward him, mouth agape. “Cyrus!” he cried in rage. “You’ve betrayed us!”
“Stick with me,” I said to Dri’s dad, pulling him to the side as a Sheolite charged. I grabbed hold of the last enemy’s arm as he brought down his sword to strike me and whipped him to the side, breaking his arm across my leg as he fell. Dri’s father pierced him through the heart. When I looked up, Andriana was facing the remaining three of the Six, who were spreading in an arc to surround her. “Stop,” she said, holding the tip of her dagger toward one after the other. “Do you know what I can do with this?”
Lord Jala’s nostrils flared. “This is pointless, Andriana. You have done nothing but assigned yourself a long, tortuous death, daring to attack us. And we all know that your gifting makes you weak in battle.”
“Not here, now. Not where Sethos has spun a spell blocking me from reading you,” Andriana grit out in rage, and she let her dagger fly. It rammed into Maximillian’s chest. His face slackened in shock and he dropped his sword, lifting his hands to grab hold of the dagger. “That is your own death
penalty, m’lord,” she cried. “For trying to kill my father twice. This day you shall know who it is you truly serve, and suffer an eternity of consequences.”
Outside, soldiers now rammed their shoulders against the door. It visibly shuddered.
My eyes moved to the windows that lined two of the walls, and I spotted men in gray uniforms running across a hill toward the palace. Toward us.
“C’mon,” I said, grabbing hold of Andriana’s hand, exhilarated to be by her side again, even if it was in the midst of such dire circumstances. We ran toward the far wall and I sent a chair crashing through a window, then used my sword to ram away the most threatening pieces. Andriana did not hesitate. She jumped over the sill, taking several other large, sharp pieces with her. She landed outside and drew her sword again, protecting her mother as she came out. Her father was next. Then Lord Cyrus, blessed, blessed Cyrus. As the soldiers finally burst through the cracked Council room door, my eyes shifted to what remained of the Six, hovering around Lord Jala as he collapsed, and I hurtled myself through the window.
ANDRIANA
T
hey were shooting at us. “Zigzag!” Dad yelled, even as we’d already begun to do so, knowing it’d be harder to hit us. We were tearing toward the hills on the far end of the expansive palace lawn, behind the sprawling building from the ocean. Making it to the trees seemed our only possible escape. The bullets passed so close I heard one whistle past my left ear, and another splintered the trunk of a tree to my right.
I dared not look back to see how far behind us they were, but I breathed better the farther into the trees we got. And yet there were still shots coming at us.
Shadowy figures emerged out of the brush as we passed them, defending us. I was moving so fast that I passed them before I could really see who they were. But as my brain caught up with the vision, I glanced back, mouth agape, along with Ronan.
Bellona and Vidar.
Here. With us.
Bellona shooting arrows, Vidar with two revolvers, driving the Pacificans away.
“We decided we couldn’t let you two have all the fun,” Vidar quipped when he caught up with us, standing beside a tunnel entrance in the wood, and caught my stare.
“Right!” I said with a grin.
Suddenly with them there, with us, I felt invincible. That our mad escape might just end in freedom, rather than death.
“How did you —”
“Vidar!” Bellona complained, notching another arrow. “Focus!”
Obediently he turned and took aim again.
“Take this tunnel,” Cyrus said, lifting a chin in the direction we were to go. “Get down there. Take the first right. Hundred paces, take a left. We’ll meet you in two minutes, or go on without us. All the way to the end.” He stared hard at Ronan. “Go all the way in that same direction, and you’ll emerge in a safe place. Got it?”
“Got it,” Ronan said. He turned and pulled me toward the tunnel opening, the trap door artfully disguised in the brush. But I pulled away from him, insisting my parents go down first. I resisted the urge to pull them into my arms, to hold them close, even for a second. Part of me knew it was a foolish waste of time. And part of me thought that if I gave in to the dream, I just might wake.
I forced myself to focus, to not give in to relief yet. We were far from safety. But I dared to believe the Maker’s dream wouldn’t all end here, in Pacifica, the Maker’s dream for me. We had to live. We had to see through the Call.
At last I climbed down the stairs carved into the rock and Ronan came behind. The door shut abruptly, and I fought the desire to return above and join the others to fight off the soldiers. They had counted the cost. They were giving us an edge. If we did not take it, we all might be lost and their sacrifice would’ve been in vain.
“C’mon, Dri,” Ronan said, lighting a flare with a strike of a match. My parents’ faces lit up in an eerie red, but at last I took a moment to hug them both, just for a second.
“H-how? When?” I asked.
“Later,” Dad said, setting me back, firm hands on each shoulder. Gloriously firm, known hands. Hands I’d known my entire life. “Right now, let’s concentrate on surviving, yes?”
“Yes,” I said, tears running down my cheeks, feeling ten years old again.
“Yes,” Mom said.
“This way,” Ronan said. And we followed.
ANDRIANA
W
e paused at the end of the tunnel, panting for breath, waiting for our friends for several long minutes, despite what Cyrus had said. “Come, Dri, we have to keep going,” Ronan said, pulling at my arm, but I resisted.
“Wait. Three more counts,” I said.
But after
three
, the tunnel remained pitch black and silent. We were turning when we heard a creak and soft thuds of people landing and turned back, praying it wasn’t soldiers. After a bit, an eerie red light filled the other end as they turned the corner. I narrowly resisted a cry of joy and waited for Vidar and Bellona to reach us on the run, Lord Cyrus helping one of the injured, Pacifican guards who had aided us coming right behind.
Vidar looped a short, stocky arm around me, grinning, all white teeth, while I hugged Bellona in turn. Vidar then took
Ronan’s arm and pulled the bigger man into a hug, lifting him off the ground, and then me. Quick introductions were made.
I sensed my parents’ gratitude and curiosity, as their eyes moved from Ronan to me again. Ronan was never out of reach, constantly touching my hand, my shoulder, my back. And I longed to slip into his arms for hours.
But a creak in the ceiling directly above us sent us all scurrying forward again, with Vidar and Bellona leading the way and Ronan and Cyrus and the injured guard bringing up the rear. Every sound carried through the tunnels. At one point, we could hear the muffled shouts of soldiers, perhaps ten feet above us. Here and there, clods of dirt gave way and fell to the ground, as if complaining about the weight above. The tunnel had periodic rough-hewn posts that gave it some structure and support. But not much. Mostly it was simply a rounded tunnel dug from the soil, barely wide enough for Ronan to fit through.
We paused off and on to clear away a collapsed portion, and I grew more and more fearful that we’d find a totally caved-in block and be trapped. But fear was not of the Maker, I reminded myself, even as we stopped to wait for Bellona and Vidar to clear the next pile of debris. When it took a while, Ronan squeezed by me and the others to see if he could help them.
Mom took the moment to embrace me again, kissing my forehead. “Ah, Andriana. How we have prayed for your safety.”
Dad reached around her to lay a hand on my shoulder.
“How did you survive?” I asked at last. “I went to the house, later, and there was so much blood.”
“We were wounded, both of us,” Mom said, and I felt the fear and pain and rage in her memories of that battle. “But they only wanted us to believe that we were vanquished, that it was
hopeless to fight, and for you to think we were dead. Precisely so they could use us at the right moment against you.”
“We need to keep moving,” Vidar said, after sharing his canteen of water with us. The water tasted odd, metallic, but I didn’t care.
“He’s right. We’re still a good distance from the end,” Cyrus said.
I stared at him and then looked to the short tunnel, disappearing into the darkness behind him. My back already ached from running hunched over the short way we’d gone, and the taller men must really be suffering. What shape would we be in by tonight? But if it led us to freedom . . .
“Vidar, how did you —” I began.
“Chaza’el,” he said, playfully turning my shoulders in the direction of the others disappearing down the tunnel again. “He knew they were about to demand your sworn loyalty, or they’d kill you.”
“Chaza’el,” I repeated, finally understanding how the Ailith could arrive at such a critical moment. “And this tunnel? Who built this tunnel?”
“I did,” Lord Cyrus said simply. “I though it wise for Keallach to have an escape route, in case of an uprising. Even most of the Six and the Sheolites did not know it was present. And the Maker knew we’d need it for an entirely different reason.”
“Nice work, for a Pacifican,” Bellona grunted ahead of us, and I smiled.
I reveled in the feeling of being surrounded again by people I loved who loved me in return, and by new allies too, all of us running in the same direction. It brought a strength coursing through my veins I hadn’t felt since leaving the Ailith on the
river. But after another hour, that strength waned; we were dirty, thirsty, and weary. Had we made much progress? I had the constant, terrible thought that those who searched for us would finally find the tunnel and come after us, easily shooting us in the back, one after the next. I prayed that the tunnel was collapsing behind us, blocking them as often as we had to stop and dig our way out.
“I’m beginning to regret my compliment, Cyrus,” Bellona called back to him, when we stopped again.
“We’re almost to the old tunnels, where it will open up.” But there wasn’t any real defense in his tone. He knew we were grateful. It was harder for the taller men, stooping constantly. Even I constantly knocked my head on the ceiling of the tunnel, caught between the overwhelming desire to straighten and yet not knock myself unconscious. The injured guard was moaning softly, even as he struggled to breathe.
The dull, thudding sound of men running above us made us all quiet again, and a big clod of dirt fell on my shoulder, then another on my back.
I held my breath as long as I could, scared to death that there were soldiers about to collapse down into the tunnel with us. I couldn’t hold my breath in any longer. I inhaled. And then I choked on the billowing dust and coughed. It was awful, needing to clear my lungs, needing to breathe, but frightened that I’d give us all away. Wasn’t there less earth between us and our adversaries than before?
“It’s all right,” Vidar whispered back to us. “They’re Pacifican soldiers, not Sheolite. They don’t know we’re here. Let’s go. But Cyrus? We need you up here now. I’ll carry our brother.”
The men switched places, and Vidar hoisted the now
unconscious guard over his shoulders. We went on until I thought my back or knees might give out, hunched over as we were. I could feel the grime coating my sweating face and neck. The air was stale, and just as I fought the sensation that those ahead of me were using up all the oxygen, that I was choking, we caught the scent of fresh air. The line ahead of us slowed and then stopped, presumably for Vidar and Bellona to survey the surroundings and see if Cyrus could remember our way out.
Then we heard the sound of metal upon metal and more fresh air poured into the tunnel. It was no brighter, so we clearly hadn’t reached the surface yet, but in a little bit we were all standing straight and stretching in a cement cavern.
“Ah, here is familiar territory,” Vidar said, as he emerged behind me and wearily, carefully set down his burden and put his hands on his hips. “Why is it that we must spend so much time in the most frightening places possible?”
“No one told you it’d be all glory,” Bellona growled, tossing him a canteen. “Get over it.”
We moved around, studying the graffiti on the wall as Vidar lit a new flare and Ronan lit a torch off his flame. There were grim, telling phrases everywhere. “This tunnel dates from the Great War,” Cyrus said, sitting down to rest a moment. I sat down beside him, staring up at the graffiti.