Chapter Forty-Three #2
‘Obviously, I’m in no rush to get back to that wretched ship.’ Cole raises his hand.
Lillienne scoffs, turning her attention to Diarmid, who rubs the back of his neck, exhaling.
‘I – uh, well, I vote to stay.’
Lillienne opens her mouth to protest but I place a hand on her arm, looking into her eyes, and she lets out a slow breath. Then nods, understanding. ‘I am alright, really. They’re right, we have come too far to give up because I had a momentary lapse in sanity.’
‘Well, then it’s settled.’ Cole claps his hands together. ‘Let’s not delay this shitshow any further.’
We move onwards. Lillienne keeps her arm tightly linked with mine as we trail behind the others. Eliaz shoots me a worried glance over his shoulder, but I cannot bring myself to meet his gaze.
Because I can no longer be certain he is real.
The exit from the cave is a large doorway of black, snaking vines, thorned and primed to injure with one wrong touch.
The man-in-beige opens them first, the three granphids almost trampling over him as they scramble to get to the other side of the threshold.
Where the red rock only continues, a passage deeper into the cavernous landscape, seemingly endless.
We walk and walk and walk, following our striped guides as they lead the way, purring eagerly, perking their ears as the turn to make sure we still follow behind. The air is thick and chalky, grating in the lungs.
I cough, unsettling red dust in the atmosphere. The ground dips downwards, so much so that we have to walk with slanted feet and careful steps in order to avoid tripping over.
Wherever we are headed, it must be deep within the bowels of the land. It feels as though we are willingly walking the descent into hell.
‘Is it too late to turn back?’ I whisper in Lillienne’s ear.
‘You neglect to remember you were outvoted.’
A chill ripples over me, at the sound of his airy voice in my head.
‘Stay out of my mind!’ I shout before I give myself the chance to think it over.
But the others do not so much as flinch, as though the sound of my voice is yet to reach their ears.
It is only Eliaz that turns his head to me, shaking his head in a chuckle.
‘I knew you were going to do that. You’re welcome for saving you the embarrassment.’
I scowl at him until he turns back around. Lillienne leans into my ear. ‘The group didn’t respond to that suggestion ten minutes ago. Besides, I have to admit, this place is rather intriguing.’
‘Not intriguing enough for me to appreciate the change in scenery. I’m getting more claustrophobic the further we venture.’
But within minutes, the tunnel opens out into a vast entry way, a red clay staircase winding upwards to the various open levels above us.
We gather there, craning our necks upwards in order to take it all in – the large clay pillars that rise up from the ground around us in a circular formation, the way the ceiling is barely visible due to its sheer distance from us, the fact that every single detail before us, is all the colour of old, oxidised blood.
There are still the downward spiked rocks that there were in the cave, but these are larger, more varied in their positioning, as though the entire place has melted slightly and set in the way it is now.
‘Now that you have gawked plenty, I shall take you to Emperor Raffan,’ the man-in-beige announces, irritation tightening his voice.
Emperor Raffan. The sound of his name is all the confirmation I need to allow that balled up hope in me to grow a size larger.
He is the man from the letter. And he is still alive.
I do not give any time to questioning the how. I just follow on obediently as the man-in-beige leads the way.
Diarmid runs his fingers over the depictions of various beasts carved out in the wall of the corridor we are led down, granphids and a multitude of other creatures I do not have the knowledge to name.
Birds with long necks and puffed plumage, giant hound-like things with teeth like spears, aquatic creatures with fanned fins and tiny, red beaded eyes.
But the largest carvings are beyond the stable manager’s reach. Two spiked dragons take up the space above the monstrous, black doors, noses touching, and tails curved and pointing to the doorframes, as though directing us to whatever lies inside.
This time, the granphids do not wait for the doors to be opened for them – they barge through, tongues hanging loose, panting profusely in excitement.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ a voice like thunder bellows from inside as the doors swing closed. They part once again, seemingly by themselves but most likely by the emperor’s staff that tend to him on the other side, out of our sight.
A long train of brown carpet begins at the lip of the doorway, a long and narrow pathway into the perch at the furthest end of the room. Where a severe looking man sits upon a throne of red clay that spirals above him like the twisting branches of a bare, decaying tree.
Emperor Raffan.
We are urged forward by his men, Cole and Eliaz crossing the threshold first, the rest of us a huddled foursome, moving together as one trembling and anxious unit.
Much like everything else in our surroundings, my skin burns red, the fear of rejection simmering on the surface of me, the worry that this man will punish us for trespassing in his territory roiling in my gut like an animal battering restlessly on the bars of its cage.
Open, flickering fires line the carpet, behind each one a stern looking guard, all dressed in linen the same colour as the river of fabric beneath our feet. It is now in the heart of this underground clay palace, that I understand the chosen material for their uniforms.
It is sweltering in here.
The emperor is an ancient artefact of a man.
The lines etched in his face like the patterns carved in old Reyheni swords, his hair a silver swirling like the clouds on the roof of my bedchamber, tinted with pink in the dim light of the room.
His eyes are like sacred gemstones, uncovered from the tomb of a past emperor, sharp, green and shimmering with an aura of enchantment – like they might either grant your deepest wishes or curse you for all of eternity.
‘I do not wish to repeat myself. What is the purpose of this disregard of my boundaries, trespassers? Have you no respect for the Emperor of Attanae?’ He raises his brows, awaiting an answer, daring us to talk to him. He squints as though he cannot fully make us out as we stare up at him.
Cole’s posture shifts in front of me, a straightening of the shoulders, a raising of the chin. His chest tightens with an inhale, as though he is preparing himself for something, building up the courage to act on something he hasn’t done in a very long time.
Like confront his own father.
So, this is the true identity of the Umbrian king’s closest friend. Looking at the displeasure dripping from the Emperor of Attanae’s face, it I can certainly see the resemblance.