The same as I would.
Their lantern sputtered and died. Galena abandoned it, and they continued forward through a suffocating darkness. The broken tiles gave way to rubble and trash and loose dirt falling from the ceiling. From time to time, Ilse called for a brief stop so they might each drink a mouthful of water, but neither she nor Galena suggested a longer halt. Valara didn’t argue. She did not want Markus Khandarr’s soldiers to trap her here.
At last, they reached a sharp turn, which emptied into a large chamber. Valara stumbled, her muscles cramped from the hours and hours of crawling. Galena caught her by the elbow to steady her. Valara muttered a thanks. Her throat was clogged with dust, and her voice came out as a feeble croak.
“Water,” Ilse said. Her own voice creaked. “Drink.”
Valara accepted the water skin and took a great gulping swallow. The water was warm; it carried a tang of earth and the slightly flat quality of cistern water. She took another swallow and handed the water skin back to Ilse, who drank deeply before she returned it to Galena.
“Do you know where we are?” Valara asked.
“The end of the tunnel, I think,” Galena said. “As far as we can go at least.”
“You think? You mean you don’t know?”
An uncomfortable pause followed.
“No,” Ilse said. “Unless you remembered to bring the map. Did you?”
Her tone was light, almost amused—a courtier’s voice, and very much out of place in this miserable dirty hole. Valara felt unaccustomed laugher fluttering beneath her ribs. If she gave way, she might start weeping from terror and exhaustion. She had the impression Ilse might do the same. “No. I forgot. My apologies.”
“A pity. Perhaps we ought to explore this chamber carefully. Alesso claimed we should find the way straight and easy, but he might have misspoken.”
A delicate way to say she had not trusted him completely, Valara thought.
They felt their way forward through the dark, keeping to the edge of the chamber. It was much larger than Valara had guessed—an irregular cavern made even more irregular by hundreds of crevices and alcoves. At one point, Galena discovered what must have been a continuation of their tunnel, but its entrance was blocked by an enormous spill of dirt and stones.
“Never mind,” Ilse said. “What we want is the exit to the shore.”
“What if he lied?” Galena said. “He lied about other things.”
She and Ilse began a soft-voiced argument about what to do next. Valara turned away from them. Was it her imagination, or had the light in the cavern brightened? She rose onto her hands and knees. Air puffed against her face. She sniffed and smelled salt tang and grass.
Without waiting for the other two, she felt her way toward its source. Her hands encountered a spiderweb, an outcropping of rock, then a gap where a steady breeze filtered down from an unseen opening. She lifted her face and saw a wedge of light far above. “Here,” she said. “I’ve found our exit. An exit. Look.”
The argument behind her stopped. Galena came to Valara’s side and craned her neck, trying to see up what Valara meant.
“Do we try to go on, or do we try this exit?” Valara said. “If it is the right one.”
“We have no choice,” Ilse said. “Galena, what about patrols?”
Galena shook her head. “It depends. We’re supposed to be dead. Or sailed away in boats before fire took. But if the commanders think we headed north, they’ll make sweeps all the way up the coast and inland.”
Not a comforting answer, but Ilse was right. They had little choice.
The tunnel slanted upward gradually for a distance. It was slow miserable going. They had to crawl on hands and knees, scrabbling through loose dirt and debris. The dirt filled their noses and choked their already dry throats, but the sight of the sunlight far above encouraged them. As the passage narrowed, they had to crawl on their bellies. The last section was the worst, the floor of the tunnel covered in thick layers of filth and bones.
At last, the entrance loomed ahead, a bright patch of sky and sun.
Galena crawled out first. She paused to scan her surroundings, then signaled to her companions to follow.
Ilse and Valara tumbled out of the passage into the open air. They were high above the shore, on a narrow spine of rock. A fresh breeze, sweetened by rain, washed against Valara’s face. She blinked, dazzled by the light darting off the green waters of a bay to her left. Down below, a highway followed the larger bends of the coast. “Where are we?” she said.
“Two or three miles from Osterling,” Ilse said.
Not nearly far enough.
Ilse and Galena began a swift discussion on what direction to take. Valara collapsed onto her back. Her hands were bleeding from cuts. Her trousers were ripped and her knees raw from scrabbling through broken rocks and paving stones. It didn’t matter. She was out of that miserable tunnel and breathing clean air. Off in the distance, she heard a gull cry, the soughing of waves against a shore. Galena was saying something about patrols and magic sniffers. It took all her self-control not to make the leap into Autrevelye right away.
Tonight or tomorrow. Once I’ve eaten and slept. Then I won’t make any mistakes.
A mistake would be fatal. She might fall into the wrong world. Or into the gaps and voids between them. There were accounts in the old histories of companions who dared to journey between worlds. One came home. The other remained lost forever.
They drank the rest of their water and started off along the ridge. By noon, they came to a cleft that snaked down the ridge into a ravine choked with pine trees and coarse grass. A stream gave them water to wash and to refill their water skin, but then they marched on. Soon the ravine opened into a wider valley surrounded by low hills. They plunged into a forest of yellow grass, which swelled from short clumps to a thicket that rose above their shoulders. Warm rain spattered them throughout the rest of the afternoon. The ground had turned into a treacherous bog, and they made slow progress along a narrow path.
A cluster of lilies, its blooms like russet stars against the pale grass, was the first sign that they had crossed the marshes. Beyond, a stand of pines made an island in the muck. As the land rose from the marsh into new slopes of red clay, the filament of a breeze washed against Valara’s face.
Galena called a halt under a stand of pines. “We’ll camp here.”
Valara slumped onto the bare earth. She cautiously touched her swollen feet, chafed by the miles in too-small boots. “How far have we come?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Ilse said. “Five miles?”
“Ten,” Galena said. “I used to hunt here with my brother. We should make the next valley tomorrow afternoon. Then come hills and more hills until we reach the Gallenz River.”
Ilse refilled their water skin from a nearby stream while Galena gathered pine branches and covered them with their blankets. When she had done with their bedding, Galena washed her hands, then picked a heap of marsh grasses, which she started to braid together.
“What are you doing?” Valara asked curiously.
“Making snares. With luck, these will bring us lunch tomorrow. For tonight, I’ll have to forage a bit.”
So many things she had not considered before her desperate flight. Valara absently rubbed the wooden ring. She’d not heard anything from the emerald during their long trek. Even now, the ring felt lifeless to her touch.
Daya? Can you hear me?
A wisp of magic’s green scent, then Valara felt a cool wind against her face, heard the shriek from a startled gull, tasted the heavy tang of salt from the bay. Below her, she saw a figure running through the underbrush. He stooped, threw a glance over his shoulder, before he darted across the bare patch. Something in the man’s height, the way his night-black hair swung around, reminded Valara strongly of Karasek.
Impossible. He died. I know it.
She blinked and found herself back in the swamp. The sun had already sunk beneath the hills, the sky had darkened to violet, and the full moon shone bright and sharp against it. Once more, time had sifted away.
Karasek dead. She felt a pang of regret, which puzzled her. She had known about his death weeks before. Or rather, she had guessed it. No one, not guards or prisoners, had mentioned him in Osterling. He would have been a prominent prisoner there.
I knew him, though. Long ago.
She wiped away the images from her past and glanced around. Ilse had built a small fire. When Valara stirred, she asked, “Did you discover anything?”
Of course the woman had recognized the magic.
Valara shrugged. “Nothing dangerous.”
Ilse tilted her head, as if she wanted to ask another question, but returned her attention to the fire without speaking.
Not long after, Galena returned with a woven basket of provender. They dined on stale bread and turtle eggs, served with cattails and fresh water. She insisted they douse the fire right away, and went on to list the many dangers they faced, from dogs to magical spells to the patrols themselves. Her voice had taken on a nervous quality, and Valara remembered she had not wanted to come at first.
Finally Ilse laid a hand on Galena’s arm. “We should sleep. We have a long march tomorrow.”
Galena twitched away from the other woman’s touch. “I’ll take first watch.”
Interesting, Valara thought. So much revealed in a few gestures.
They had assigned her a bed in the middle. She lay down on the mattress of pine branches, which creaked underneath. The rich tang tickled her nose; it reminded her of the hills above Rouizien on Enzeloc. From far off, she heard a bullfrog’s deep-throated song, the rill of water. Her thoughts winged back—as always—to Morennioù and Vaček’s soldiers. To her father’s council, now hers by default. If she could have transported herself back to Morennioù that instant, she would have done so.
* * *
SHE WOKE IN
the middle of the night. Ilse was shaking her arm. “Your turn to watch,” she whispered. She said more, about keeping time by the moon’s angle, but Valara paid no attention. Here was the opportunity she needed.
She took her post beside the stream and waited for her companions to settle into sleep. It was the first quiet moment she had to observe her surroundings. The trees and marsh looked far different under the moonlight, their colors bleeding to silver and gray. Shadows blurred the distance, changed perspective. Sounds were different, too. Rain had fallen while she slept. Now she heard a constant silvery trickle from the trees onto leaves, a stronger rill from the stream.
She counted the moments to herself, well into the thousands, until she felt certain Ilse slept. Then, she rose silently onto her feet. The moon had reached its midpoint in the sky, and she could easily see the best path, but she moved cautiously nonetheless. Even one careless step might bring Galena awake.
The hillside dipped into a fold, not far from their camp, then rose steeply into a forest of pine and oak. Valara climbed until she reached a small clearing. Here the moon was hardly visible, and the musty smell of old leaves filled the air.
She sat with her back against one enormous oak. With practiced ease, she turned her focus inward, folding her thoughts upon themselves until she brought her mind to a single point, to a single moment.
Ei rûf ane gôtter. Ane Lir unde Toc.
The magic current breathed to life around her. Its scent was fresh and sweet. Valara continued the invocation, to the gods, to the magic. From a distance, she heard Daya humming a discordant song, but she did not pause to wonder.
Komen mir de strôm. Komen mir de vleisch unde sêle. Komen mir de Anderswar.
The trees around her dissolved into a diamond-bright mist. Beyond the mist lay a thick darkness, almost a presence. It was like a fog-bound night on Enzeloc’s coast, when stars and moon were veiled and invisible.
The mist thinned to wisps and curls, for all the good that did. She stood in the midst of nothing, a void illuminated by a brilliant light. Even as the thought came to her, the light shifted, changed to an impossibly vibrant prism of color. She paused, uncertain. Though the familiar green scent saturated the air, this place was like none she had ever visited in Autrevelye, not even in lives before. No wheeling worlds beneath her. No sense of instability. All was too quiet and still, as though she stood in a bubble outside all worlds.
Because you do stand outside them all, Valara Baussay.
A tall figure strode into view—a woman with silver hair and a gleaming black face. When Valara fell back, the woman held up her hand. A long slim hand with eight fingers and nails curved into claws.
Stop,
the woman said.
Who are you?
Valara whispered.
You know me.
There was magic in her song, a rainbow of hues in her words, and sharp sweet flavors with every syllable. She was a creature of Autrevelye, but unlike any Valara had ever encountered.
No, I am not of Autrevelye, though you abandoned me here a dozen lifetimes ago.
Cold trickled through Valara’s veins.
Daya? Why did you stop me? We cannot stay in Veraene. They will take you and use you—
And you will not? I was captured and tormented. My soul was divided. You … you promised me freedom, all those years ago, but you lied. You left me and my brothers-sisters. And now you would battle your brother again over us. We are not things, Valara Baussay. We are one.
But you helped me escape the prison.
I did. You will go home. I swear it. But not before you deliver us all.
What do you mean deliver?
But Daya had resumed humming.
… rûf ane gôtter … rûf ane zoubernisse …
The mist streamed around them, once more a thick and brilliant white.
Wait,
Valara cried
. Tell me what you want. I’ll do it.
Deliver me. Deliver my brothers-sisters-cousins-self. Promise me …
Her words ran together into a chorus of silvery notes, high and clear and precise, the rill of water singing over stone, of raindrops cascading from the trees …