Chapter 21 ~ Night Shadows

As they went farther down, into the cellar, the wooden walls became earthen, and the floor became a low plank walkway over a stream of foul smelling water.  Then the narrow tunnel wall opened into a large, cool corridor, and Currun finally lit a small light.  Russ looked down and halted, pressing himself against the wall.  A stone ledge about three feet wide ran along the wall, but beyond lay an underground river.  It flowed black and quiet.  Currun held the light out over it for a moment, before sweeping his arm up and gazing at the walls and ceiling.  Russ saw a mingling of cave walls and stone archways.  The ceiling was about twelve feet high.

“Come,” said Currun, heading to the left on the ledge.  “Don’t slip into the water.”

Russ had every intention of staying as dry as possible, and kept a hand on the cool smoothness of the tunnel wall as he followed.  They remained silent as they went; the only sounds were their feet on the slick walkway and the lazy gurgle of the sewer water, accompanied by the occasional scurry of a rat or feral cat.  Currun’s light threw strange shadows over the underground walls; shapes that leapt out or flickered by.  Russ didn’t know what were rats and what were light tricks, but tried not to let any of it spook him.  He wasn’t going to act like a girl in front of Currun.

They walked on and on underground, meeting other tunnels at intersections where the black rivers’ currents met and mingled and flowed on under the streets above.  Russ was tired but alert, feeling as if he were operating on adrenaline alone.  He had to be alert; because he still didn’t know what was going to be expected of him when they reached the underside of the palace.  He’d given up asking Currun for information; the man opened up only when he wanted to and got pissed off when he didn’t.  When Currun did clue him in, he didn’t want to miss it.  Bastard, he thought again.  He likes keeping me hanging on his every word.

Currun held up his hand, and Russ halted wearily.  “Up this way,” he whispered briefly before extinguishing the light and heading up a narrow culvert.  Russ followed.  The culvert was like a ramp, and there was no water running down the groove in the middle.  The ceiling got lower and lower the higher they went, till they were crawling, not walking.  But then, at the end, it opened up into a long vertical tunnel above their heads.  At the top far above was a grate, and the faint light of the moon filtered down to the them, though Russ couldn’t see any sky or stars.

“We’ll have to climb up, and push the grate up.  If you can open things so well, perhaps you can help make it come free.”

“What’s up there?”

“The bath houses, and the pool.  It is outside, adjacent to the garden where the tombs are.”

“What about guards?”

“Leeton never bothered to place guards there, at least when I lived here.  It is in the middle of the palace grounds, surrounded like the center of a wheel, so no one is expected to arrive there; you would have to get through all the other guards and sentries and people first.”

Russ stared at the grate, wondering how they could cling to the rock walls and work the grate free at the same time.  He wasn’t even sure he could climb that high up the wall; the surface was uneven, with bricks sticking out and other crevices visible in the faint light, but still.  With a mental shrug he decided to try, and worry about the grate when he was at the top.

The stones were cold, and a little damp.  Mud and mold clung in the crevices, making his handholds slippery.  But the shaft was narrow enough that he could lean back and brace himself against the opposite wall, so after a moment of climbing he didn’t worry about falling all the way down.  He looked down and saw Currun following.

At the top he grabbed onto the grate and wedged himself crossways, feeling a little like the Grinch lodged in a chimney.

“Open it,” Currun said impatiently from below.

Russ shook his head, studying the grate for a moment, testing it.  It seemed one with the stones around it, and he wondered if Currun was overestimating him this time.  The grate wasn’t a door; so far he’d never made a door open where there wasn’t one.  But he didn’t say anything of the sort to Currun, instead pushing and prodding at the grate as if he knew what he were doing.

After looking closer he found that the grate was only wedged into the stone, but he still wondered if he had enough leverage to push it up.  There was no room for Currun to crawl up and help him, so he didn’t even bother expressing these doubts.  Instead he shifted his position and tried to pry some stones away from the edge of the metal frame.  A cascade of pebbles and stone dust pelted his face and rained down on Currun below, but it encouraged him.  He kept jiggling the grate back and forth and breaking off whatever aging stone chips he could.  The rocks began to dig into his back and his legs were tired of pushing against the opposite wall; his feet were sliding down slowly and he felt a cramp coming on . . . .

He paused from working at the grate, and tried to get into a more comfortable position.  Currun muttered, “I’m not breaking your fall, Markson . . . .”

Russ grunted.  “I’m not falling.”

“What about the grate?  It’s our only way in.  If you cannot work your ‘magic’ on it, let me—”

“I’ve got it,” Russ gritted his teeth against the cramp working its way up his right hamstring.  “Almost, anyway . . . .”  He took a chance and placed all his weight on his left leg, trying to stretch out the right.

“What are you doing?” Currun hissed as more stones pelted him.

“Magic,” Russ muttered.  He was getting impatient, himself, and he wished he could just levitate that damn grate up and out of the way.  But he took a breath and pushed his protesting leg back against the wall, shoving again at the grate.

The metal made a quiet screech as it finally slid up against the stones, and he winced at the noise.  He paused, holding his breath, and glanced at Currun.

“Go on,” Currun said, “there shouldn’t be anyone around at this time of night.”

“Things may have changed—”

Currun shook his head with a jerk.  “Trust me.  I very much doubt that Leeton’s household has changed significantly since I left.”

“Mmmmm.”  Russ hoped that was true, and went back to screeching the grate up.  He slid it out of his way, slowly, then tried to pull himself up and out.  Once on the flat ground, he sprawled on his stomach and stretched out his legs, spitting stone dust from his mouth.

He lifted his head and took a breath of cold night air, finding himself staring out at a large pool.  At first it looked like a sheet of glass, a vast mirror, but the steps leading down into the water gave it away.  He rolled over, sat up, and looked to the other side, seeing a wall.  He was in a long, covered area near the pool, and when he looked up he saw faucets hanging over his head.

Currun climbed out after him, glancing around briefly.  Russ didn’t see any sign of guards, and apparently neither did Currun.  They crept along the wall, walking out from the showers under the stars by the pool. As they rounded it, he saw that they were heading toward a gate leading out into a garden.

They came to the gate, and Russ looked out through the iron bars.  It wasn’t like Arlic’s garden, which was filled with trees.  This garden was full of strange, towering shapes spaced apart on a flat, golfcourse-like field of grass.  In the faint dark they seemed menacing, twisted forms casting dark shadows.  Then he realized that they were just bushes, and felt stupid.

Currun nudged him, and when he had his attention back, he nodded toward the chains that looped around the doors.  “Open,” he ordered shortly.

Russ touched the chains.  They rattled slightly, and he froze.  But they weren’t going anywhere without getting through that gate, he thought, so he held his breath and found the padlock as quietly as he could.  Once he had it in his hands, he looked down at the keyhole, glaring back up at him like a dark twisted eye, and wondered what the hell he was supposed to do.  He didn’t know how to open things “magically,” if that’s even what it was.  So far things just seemed to open by themselves.  But the chains weren’t just falling free, and he didn’t know what to do next.

Currun, even silent, was burning with impatience, and Russ could feel it bearing down on him.  This is a lock, he thought, not a door.  I can’t do anything about a lock.  As if hearing his words, the padlock seemed to grow heavier, and he could imagine the mechanisms closing even tighter together, refusing to be opened.  He let it back down carefully, then backed a step away from the gate.

“What?” Currun hissed.

“I’ve got a better idea,” Russ replied, looking up at the wall next to the gate. It was made of round white stones that stuck out enough for footholds, and looked pretty easy to climb.  Compared to the shaft the wall wasn’t very high.  He reached out to touch the stones experimentally, then started to climb up.  It was harder than he’d thought — his right leg didn’t appreciate the extra work, and the roundness of the stones made them slippery.  Some barely stuck out far enough to be any help.  Currun made a quiet grunt below him, as if to say, “I fail to see how this is better,” but Russ kept climbing.  It seemed like a long time before he reached the top of the wall.

Perched high on a narrow strip of rock, looking down at the dark ground below, made him realize that getting down the other side would probably be harder.  He fought a feeling of dizziness, and turned around slowly, gripping the wall as he shoved his feet out blindly, searching the surface for a likely foothold.  Eh, not so bad, he thought a moment after he felt a little more balanced.  Then he moved his hands, leaned back a little too much, and felt his feet slip helplessly as the ground sucked him down.  He hit it smack flat on his back, and the air whooshed from his lungs.  He gasped in vain, staring up at the stars.  Suddenly they were the only thing filling his view, and they blurred.

Currun dropped quietly beside him, on his feet, and shook his head as he looked down.  He pulled Russ up by the arm, asking in a gruff whisper, “Are you hurt?  Anything broken?”

Air rushed back in.  “No,” Russ grunted, though he wasn’t entirely sure.

“Idiot,” Currun muttered, letting go of his arm.  “Why didn’t you just open the gate?”

Russ pushed himself to his feet, glanced up the wall, and shrugged a little.  “I thought,” he said, testing his breath again, “this would be more fun.”

“Hm.”  Currun moved to crouch by a tall bush trimmed in an odd wavy shape. “Be quiet now.  The dog kennels are down past the garden this way, if I remember correctly.”

Russ choked.  “What?”

“Shh.  They’ll be locked up a sleeping behind more walls.  But don’t—” Russ saw a flash of white as Currun smiled, “—forget they’re there.  Come.  The old tombs are in the garden.”

Russ followed him down a path through the field of bushes, feeling as if he were walking through an odd dream.  It made him nervous.  The dogs are locked up behind walls.  Sleeping.  Locked up.  Behind walls.  Sleeping.  Locked up.  Behind walls.  He turned it into a chant as they went, hoping it would stay that way.

Eventually he saw firelight up ahead, and Currun grabbed his arm, drawing him behind a bush off the side of the path.  They made their way closer through the bushes, creeping from shadow to shadow.  There was a man guarding the door of the mausoleum, standing under a torch bracketed to the wall.  There seemed no other visible entrance, but also no other guards.

Russ looked at Currun, wondering what their next move would be.  Currun pointed at him, then out at the path in front of the entrance.  Russ stared at him blankly.  Currun pointed at himself and motioned around the bush, then repeated his motions for Russ, and Russ shook his head warily.  But Currun was adamant, turning him around to face the path.  Great.  I’m bait, Russ thought, but shrugged Currun’s hands away and took a breath.

He walked out onto the path, his legs feeling like jelly.  The guard, who had been nearly dozing, snapped up his head and brought his sword out.  “Halt!  Who goes there?”

Russ paused.  “Hi.”

“I said, who goes there?”

“I’m just out for a stroll.  You know.  Through the garden.”

The guard took a step forward, squinting see him in the dark outside the torch’s range.  “This is the King’s garden!  Entry is forbidden.  Show yourself.”

“Riiight . . . .”  Russ turned and started to jog away toward the pool gates.

“Halt!” the man yelled, and Russ hoped there weren’t any others close enough to hear the shout.  He cursed Currun as he glanced over his shoulder and saw the guard bolt after him.  But then Currun appeared behind the pursuing guard and tackled him, wrapping an arm around his neck and bringing him to his knees.  Russ stopped.  Currun yanked his arm up, and with a crunch the guard’s body went limp.  He released it and it flopped to the ground, face down.  Russ stared, thinking for a moment that Currun must have only knocked the man out, because . . . well, because.  But the sound was unmistakable.

“What happened to not being seen?” Russ hissed as he came back, trying not to look rattled.  Currun ignored him, and started to search over the body.  Russ stopped above them, wondering if he was also responsible for this . . . death.  “W-what if he called more guards?”

“Be quiet and help me look for the keys — wait, here they are.”  Currun carefully extracted the ring of keys from the man’s belt, and stood up.  “I had to take a chance,” was his only explanation as he turned away toward the tomb.

Russ stepped over the guard, feeling wrong, and wondering how many necks Currun had broken in his life.  But he pushed it from his mind and followed.

Currun tested each key till he found the one that opened the door, and they entered.  The crypt was dimly lit with more sparse torches.  Rows of rectangular holes lined the walls on either side of them, from floor to ceiling, and dusty bones lay in each one, some wearing old crowns or with swords weighting down the frail ribs.  Currun grabbed a torch from the wall and swept it around the room.

“These are the nameless Alisiyans,” he remarked, giving them only cursory glances.  “I don’t know where he put Aysha.  But Leeton wouldn’t bother guarding these old bones . . . .”

“There’s stairs.”  Russ pointed at the floor in the back of the room.  A flight of old, crumbling steps led down to another level.

“Yes.  There are more ancient bones down that way,” Currun said.  “The burial caverns run deep.  But we’ll search them all.”

The tomb below was nearly identical, but larger and dustier, with multiple chambers.  A few biers stood in the room space, not in the walls, but even the ones with that distinction were unmarked.  The nameless ones, Russ thought, feeling chilled.  Then he shook his head, wondering why.  Of course they’d had names, they’d just been forgotten.  Or lost.

They didn’t find Aysha or Alisiya, and went down another flight of stairs.

There, deep in a low chamber in the back, they found a grave that wasn’t dusty.  The body was not bones, and looked newly laid out.  It was a woman in a white dress.  Her face and hands were as white as her dress, but her hair was darker than the shadows.  Russ stared at her face.  It was covered with white netting, and was beautiful.  Thin but elegant, the dark eyebrows and eyelashes striking against the snowy skin.  The only thing that indicated she was not just sleeping was the deathly blue shade of her lips.  She reminded him of Eliasha, and it made him feel sad to see her lying dead so young and so beautiful.

“Aysha,” Currun breathed.

The eyelids shifted, and opened.