The Rival (40 page)

He pushed his way back up the stairs, warning the others to do the same.  Perhaps they could find places to hide, or perhaps they could get out through the windows.  The Fey might no longer be guarding the outside.  They might all be coming in.

The tide on the stairs turned, and moved him along with it.  He grabbed the door to one of the Danite closets on the second floor and managed to yank it open.  Half a dozen soiled robes littered the floor.  The Auds were supposed to clean them. 

More screaming echoed from below. Titus grabbed a robe and pulled it over his.  It fit loosely and was dreadfully hot, but it would work. 

It had to.

Then he hurried to the windows.  The sight below was not encouraging.  A dozen Auds were being flayed alive, their heads intact, screaming as each strip of flesh was removed.  The tiles were drenched in blood.  Several smaller animals had joined the cat, licking the brown river as it flowed by. 

He couldn't save these people.  He could do nothing.  He hurried across the hall, to another room, went inside and looked out the window.  The same scene replayed on the other side.

The Fey had the Tabernacle surrounded.

There was no escape.

Except perhaps they would move on after they killed.  He went back to the stairs, and stopped.  The stench had grown, and mixed in it were the smells of smoke, burning fur, and burning flesh.  The heat he felt had nothing to do with the robes.

The Tabernacle was on fire.

FORTY-TWO

The tunnels were dark.  And damp.  And filled with bugs.  Con hunched over as he went.  He suspected he was near the river because the tunnel's walls dripped water.  He could also see, several feet ahead, that the tunnel grew so low he would have to crawl.

It was good that the Rocaan had sent a boy of Con's size and weight.  Anyone larger would not have been able to get through.

Con had had the foresight to tie several torches to his rope belt.  He had already used one up, and lit the second, but it was becoming a liability.  The tunnel he was in was lowering, and there seemed to be an odd current of air flowing through it, moving the smoke back at him.

He didn't want to put out the torch, but he needed to breathe.

He waited until he got to the crawl space.  The path was going uphill here, and it felt as if he were inside a building.  From the map, he thought it looked as if the tunnel was built into the foundation level of the old warehouses, the ones that his father had told him about.  The foundations remained, but the warehouses were long gone, except for some stonework near the river bed.

He figured the tunnel would go through the foundation, then uphill and into the bridge itself.  The bridge was a large stone structure with a lot of arches.  He had always thought there was more stone there than needed, even to support the roadway itself.

Now he knew why.

He reached the crawlspace, climbed in, and held his torch outside it.  The fit was narrow, cramped, and the stone floor was damp beneath his knees.  He couldn't crawl with the torch in front of him; the smoke would grow even worse.  Besides, he needed both hands.

He pulled the map out from inside his robe and looked at it.  The tunnel through the bridge was clearly marked, and there were no branches.  If he traveled anywhere without a light, it would be through here. 

Then he rolled up the map and stuck it back inside his robe.  He carried a lot of extra weight.  His pockets were full of bread, and he wore a water pouch around his neck.  He hated small spaces, absolutely hated them, had since he was a child (which, if he were honest, wasn't that long ago).  But he had a Charge.

He would see it through.

Finally he patted the pocket of his Aud's robe for his flint, begged his own forgiveness, and put out the torch.

The darkness was complete and total.  He had never been a place so black.  He couldn't see his hand when it touched his face.  He would have to go by feel now, entirely. 

And he didn't like that.

But the Rocaan was counting on him. 

The Rocaan, the Roca and God.  Con had his Charge.  He would complete it with honor.

Once the smoke cleared, the air had a musty odor.  Musty and dank.  He could smell the mud of the river, somewhere nearby, a rank odor that had a bit of decay mixed in it.  The stone floor was overgrown with moss.   Some of the stone had crumbled, leaving pebbles in the soft mushy surface.  They dug into his palms and knees.  He winced as he went, but didn't stop.

The faster he got out of here, the quicker he would see the King.  The quicker he saw the King, the sooner the nightmare would end.

The tunnel lowered even more.  He didn't notice it at first, then he realized his back was scraping on the ceiling.  He grabbed the water pouch and slung it around to the front.  His robe was damp and heavy as if he had been crawling through water.  It dragged from his knees down.  The moss was cold and slimy under his bare toes.  A shudder ran through him as something soft brushed his left cheek.  Immediately he was crawly, as if he were covered in bugs.  But he couldn't move to slap them off, and he knew it was all a figment of his imagination.  There were bugs, but because he had felt one, it seemed as if he were coated in them.

Amazing the tricks the mind played.

Through the cracks in the stone, he could hear the river gurgling as it passed.  The sound was exceptionally loud above.  It sounded like a faint murmur in here.  He crawled with his hands as far forward as they went; in his active imagination, he saw holes in the tunnel, holes that would send him plunging into the river below.

But the only cave-ins he noted were tiny ones done by time.  He suspected it wasn't even the stones that he was feeling, but the mortar used to hold the stones together.  If indeed they had used mortar.  He hadn't noticed when he crawled inside.

The darkness was still complete.  His eyes hadn't adjusted at all.  He had heard somewhere that the Cardidas was a mile across at its narrowest point  —  the place at which the bridge had been built.  He had no idea how far he crawled, or how long it would take to crawl a  mile.  He was also afraid the tunnel would narrow even more.  Then he wouldn't be able to get through at all.  He would get stuck, all by himself, in this place where no one had been in generations.  Only the Rocaan and a few Elders knew where he was.  If he never returned, would they consider him a failed Charge?  Or would they send someone after him?

He crawled even faster, scraping his hands on the marshy, pebbly surface.  Water dripped somewhere ahead.  He could hear it over the faint gurgle.  He didn't know how water could drip in here, how it even got in, unless it built up. 

He didn't want to think about what was below his hands, what was growing in the moss. 

Most of all, he didn't want to think about all those Fey animals, sitting outside the Tabernacle, waiting for something, watching, a serious enough threat that the Rocaan seemed nervous.  Con had never seen so many Fey.  He hadn't even known there were that many Fey, although it made sense.  He had heard that the Fey had conquered half the world.  That had simply been a saying to him, an abstraction.  But when he thought about it, it would take a lot of people to conquer that much space.

And now they might be on Blue Isle.

He didn't know what would happen to him when he reached the palace.  He didn't know what he'd do after he informed the King.

Con hadn't brought holy water, even though the Rocaan had told him to.  There wasn't room for that, the torches, the map, and the bit of bread he'd been able to bring.  Despite his thirst, he hadn't had a drink of water yet. That was for emergencies.

He suspected he might have some under here.

The air was stifling hot.  The odd breeze he had felt before was gone.  The only room inside this tunnel was on the sides.  His back brushed the ceiling, and his hands and knees were scraping.  The briny, mucky, stale odor was growing.

Something landed in his hair.  He brought his head down, and brushed his head, heard something plop, and then he continued forward.  He was shaking. 

Maybe if he lay down for just a moment, lit a torch and saw where he was.  Maybe then it would help.

But he knew it wouldn't.  It would just smoke up his air, and discourage him.  He suspected he couldn't see a beginning or an end to the tunnel yet.

The bridge was the longest in all of Blue Isle, and he was inside it.

He heard a faint rumble, a growl almost.  Then the ground beneath him started to shake.  He stopped, breathing hard.  The shaking was growing.  Tiny rocks shook off the ceiling and sprinkled him.

The rumble grew, and through it, he could make out individual sounds.  Someone was marching overhead.

A number of someones.

A large number of someones, all in step, and together.  Islanders never crossed the bridge like that.

He was beneath the Fey.

They were heading from the Tabernacle to the other side of Jahn.

To the palace.

He had to beat them.

He started crossing faster, keeping pace with their footsteps, almost slithering across the damp ground.  All the while he moved, he prayed softly under his breath, hoping the Holy One would take his message to God's Ear.

"Let me get there first," he whispered.  "Please.  Let me get there first."

FORTY-THREE

Titus tried to go down the stairs, but the smoke was inky black and putrid.  The fire had to be moving fast.  He backed up, turned, and caught two Auds with his arms.

"You can't go down there," he said.

"But the catacombs  — "

He shook his head.  He didn't want to think about the catacombs.  He brought the boys back up the stairs.  Fey were coming down the corridor, the human Fey, their faces streaked with smoke and blood.  They didn't seem to care about the fire.  They caught Danites, and the remaining Auds, and shoved them against the wall.

Titus took his two charges and pulled them into the nearest room, bolting the door.  They were in a Danite cell.  A single bed stood near the window, and two chairs were beside a small table.  He passed them, and pulled the tapestry back. 

The entire southern part of the city appeared to be under attack.  Fey were going in and out of all the buildings.  The animals were still there below, some feeding on dead bodies.  A large cat had his paw on one of the Officiates and was gnawing at the man's innards. 

Smoke billowed out of the lower windows.  The spilled candles must have lit the rugs on fire, and the wood trim throughout the Tabernacle caught.  The entire building would be unsafe in a matter of moments.

Something thudded at the door.  The smallest Aud cringed.  The other one looked at Titus, and then recognized him.

"Holy Sir," he breathed.

Titus felt ridiculous in his poor disguise.  Still, he raised a hand to his lips to shush the boy. 

"What do we do?" the boy asked.

They had no choice.  If they remained in the room, it was certain death.  The animals below, on the other hand, looked busy.  And perhaps they were sated.  He couldn't tell and he didn't want to speculate.

He just knew they had to get out.

He peered out the window again.  The drop was too steep for him.  "Tie the blankets together," he said.

The boys looked at him as if he were crazy.  Perhaps he was.  But he could do nothing for his staff now, nothing for the Tabernacle.  Porciluna was right.  Titus had to save himself.  He had the Secrets.

The Auds yanked the blankets off the bed.  Titus leaned over it to see if it was built into the wall.

It was.

He grabbed one end of a blanket and tied it onto the bed's wooden frame.  There were only two blankets. The boys had tied them together.  The make-shift ladder wouldn't be long enough to reach the bottom, but it would do.

The thud at the door sounded again.  Soon whatever it was outside would break in.  Titus glanced at the boys.  They looked terrified.  He didn't know if it was better to send them down first or to go down first himself.

He didn't even know if the blanket ladder would work. It might catch fire near the lower windows. 

The door thudded again, and then splintered. 

His decision was made.  He grabbed the other end of the blanket and tossed it out the window.

"Climb out," he said, "and hide as best you can.  Don't call attention to yourself."

"C-C-Climb, Holy Sir?" the first Aud asked.

The splinters in the door grew wider.  "Now!" he said.

The boys scrambled onto the blanket.  The Aud who hadn't hid, the one who looked older, climbed down first. The second Aud had just gone over the side of the window when the door shattered.

"Holy Sir!" the Aud said.

"Go!" Titus yelled.

A Fey burst in.  She was female, with a long, lean face, her eyes bright.  She had her hands out.  They actually had a second set of fingernails. 

Titus reached behind him and untied the blanket.  It slid out the window.  He prayed he hadn't hurt the boys, but he knew if he left it, the Fey would have followed the trail.

It was the boys' only chance.

But it destroyed his.  He glanced out the window.  The blanket was pooled at the bottom, but the boys were gone.  The animals appeared to be eating nearby, and he saw no sign of chase.

Then someone tapped him on the shoulder.  He turned.  The woman was smiling at him.  She had a drying drop of blood on the side of her nose.  Several more Fey, men and women, had come into the room.

"Do you know what I can do?" she asked in Islander, as she ran her finger down the side of his Aud's robe.  "I can remove your skin, one layer at a time."

A thin slice of the robe came off, curling onto the floor.  The other Fey were watching, their eyes bright.

They would hold him and kill him, and he would have no chance at all.

Titus glanced up at her, letting all the fear he felt fill his face.  Let her think he was going to give in.  Let her relax for one moment.