33. Phoebe
33
PHOEBE
T hey lead us deeper into the city, toward whatever the Shaman has planned for us.
The Maulavi drag us through winding streets, leading us back to the heart of the city and further from any possibility of escape. Our shadows are huge against the cavern walls, making us look like monsters.
My skin burns from trying to loosen the bindings on my aching arms. Two Maulavi grip my upper arms and are half-dragging me. Behind us, the chains binding Vapas clank with each step. It takes four of them to keep him moving, even in his dazed state. Every time I try to look back, they jerk me forward, but I can't stop trying. I need to see him, to know he's okay.
Suspicious eyes glare from doorways, stalls, and the streets around us. None of the Urr’ki I see offer any sign of hope. They note our passing and most don’t show any signs of judgment or caring.
The center of the city is dominated by a massive black structure that towers over the other buildings. That seems to be their intended goal. My stomach flips at seeing it. At the base of that tower is the stage where the Shaman makes his speeches before the sacrifices. I’ve been drug along to witness them, which is an experience I never want to have again.
Debris blocks the street. It looks like two buildings collapsed. The Maulavi growl at one another, barking commands but it seems like they’re arguing about which way to go. Two of them yell at the Urr’ki who are slowly moving debris. They look at the Maulavi and shrug.
Angrily I’m jerked into motion as they change direction. The sound of Vapas’ chains clanking is almost reassuring. It would be more so if they didn’t reinforce that we’ve been captured and are most likely about to be tortured and killed, but at least we’re together.
Two city blocks or so further on and once more the path forward is blocked with debris. Four Urr’ki sullenly move around the pile but it’s clear they’re not doing anything effective to clear the path.
The Maulavi are getting growing angrier with each passing moment. A handful of them huddle together and are clearly arguing. One of them is gesturing away from the tower though I have no idea what they are saying. As the disagreement continues something brushes my tightly bound, mostly numb hands and I gasp, jerking my head around to look.
Vapas has managed to move close enough that his fingers brush against mine. My smile is so wide it hurts my jaw, but when one of the Maulavi in the arguing huddle glares in my direction I bury it fast.
The Maulavi seem to come to some decision. They resume their places around us and push us back into motion. They drag us along until we come to a dull gray stone building that, while intimidating, doesn’t hold a candle to the central one that I am sure was their intended goal.
Two of the Maulavi produce and light torches and then we descend a steep set of worn stone steps. The air grows colder and damper. Beyond the torchlight there is the sound of water dripping somewhere in the darkness. The hallway opens into a wide room with metal bars set into the stone walls.
Cells. It’s a room full of cells. None of them seem to be occupied. Bioluminescent mold grows on some of the walls intertwining with lichens. The bars are rusting and it all smells of decay.
They throw me into the first one. I stumble and fall hard onto the cold stone floor. Vapas they handle with more care, four of them keeping hold while two others unlock the heavy cell door. They force him inside and quickly slam it shut. The lock clicks with grim finality.
Two guards take up positions on either side of the cells. The rest file out, their torches taking most of the light with them. Only a single torch remains in a bracket on the wall, casting everything in deep shadows.
I crawl as close to the bars dividing our cells as I can. Vapas sits slumped against the back wall. His eyes are clearer now, but even in the dim light I see a large bump forming where they struck him. My chest aches seeing that they hurt him. Vapas, who's always been so strong, so unstoppable. My fingers twitch with the need to touch him, to comfort him, but the ropes bite into my wrists.
“Are you okay?” I whisper.
The words feel inadequate, but they're all I have. His expression darkens and something in his eyes makes my heart stutter. It’s not just anger or fear. There's a tenderness that makes this moment almost unbearable.
“We cannot stay here.”
“I know,” I agree.
Vapas' chains rattle as he shifts.
“Phoebe, did they… were you at any of the…”
“The rallies?” I ask.
“With the Infernal machine?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, the horror of what I saw then making me nauseous now. “Why? Why did he build such an awful thing? Why do your people go along with the Maulavi doing that to them?”
“To awaken the Paluga.”
“I heard the word,” I say. “But I don’t know what that means.”
Vapas shifts, making his chains clatter.
“It is… a part of our beliefs. A god of destruction. The Shaman promises that it will help us win the war with the Zmaj. That it will burn this world and usher in the next.” His eyes meet mine, filled with desperate intensity. There's something else there too, a guilt that makes my stomach twist. “The machine is part of the ritual. The Shaman has led everyone to believe that we must sacrifice enough to awaken it.”
Understanding comes unbidden and having it, it’s definitely unwanted. They’re going to sacrifice him.
“No.” The word comes out as barely more than a breath. I lean closer, not caring about the guards. “No, I won't let them?—”
One of the guards barks something harsh in Urr'ki. I fall silent, but press myself to the bars, closer to Vapas. His chains clink as he shifts himself closer. The familiar warmth of him comes through the bars. I listen to his breath, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. It grounds me even as terror threatens to overwhelm.
We sit in silence for a long moment, listening to the steady drip of water somewhere in the darkness. Finally, Vapas speaks so quietly I barely hear him.
“Whatever happens, whatever they do to me, stay alive. Promise me.”
His voice breaks slightly on the last word, and that small crack in his composure nearly undoes me.
I want to argue, to tell him nothing is going to happen to him. But the words stick in my throat. Instead, I lean my head against the bars, partially touching his shoulder.
“Only if you promise the same,” I whisper.
I try to put everything I can't say into those words. How much I need him, how the thought of losing him tears me apart inside, how somehow this pretend relationship, this ‘fake’ dragoste claim has become real. How he has become my whole world.
His chest rises and falls with a deep breath. The silence stretches between us, heavy with all the things we haven't said, all the moments we might never get. When he doesn't answer, something inside me breaks a little. I turn my face to the side, breathing in his scent, searing this moment in my memory. His chains rattle softly as he shifts to press himself to the bars.
In the shadows of our cell, with death looming over us, I realize with perfect clarity that I love him. The timing is horrible, maybe even cruel, but there it is. And I might never get the chance to show him.