16. Elara
16
ELARA
T hree Urr’ki guards step inside, weapons drawn, their expressions blank, practiced indifference in their eyes. My stomach drops when I see that Z’leni is not among them. Two hold out heavy chains, staring warily at Ryatuv.
“It is time,” one says, voice low and devoid of even a hint of emotion.
My stomach knots. I don’t have to ask what for.
Ryatuv shifts his weight first, moving with a deliberate slowness, testing his limits. When he rises, he towers over them, his presence is diminished, but not broken. I force myself to my feet and square my shoulders. Whatever happens next, I will not face it cowering.
The Urr’ki bind Ryatuv in so many chains that it’s a wonder he can stay upright. The iron links wrap around his wrists and up most of his forearms. Shackles bind his ankles, connected with a short chain between them. Ryatuv watches with a quiet, dismissive attitude as if the chains don’t matter. I wish I had such confidence. Bile rises in my throat and burns as I swallow it. I don’t want him to die. I don’t want to die either.
They march us through the winding corridors and up a steep set of stairs. We pass decaying tapestries, their edges frayed and fluttering in unseen drafts. The walls have cracks in them that look like spiderwebs. Probably from the recent earthquakes. The air is thick with the scent of dust and old blood.
After at least four sets of slick stairs we stop climbing and walk along a wide, empty corridor. It’s wide enough for four abreast. Occasionally there are armored guards on some doors, while others are not guarded at all.
Two guards flank Ryatuv ahead of me. He rattles and clanks with every step. The third guard is at my side but his attention is on Ryatuv clearly not seeing me as a threat. Which is unfortunately true. It’s not even the unfair physical matching of a woman versus a man. Urr’ki are huge and hulking as a species. In a contest of strength I wouldn’t even be able to step up to the table.
Still I watch. Looking for even the glimmer of a chance to do something. I have no idea what it might be, but it’s all I have. The last, dying vestiges of hope flicker in my chest, making my blood run cold, my heart seize in terror. I cling to it in desperation, unwilling to give up even though I know I should. Something. There has to be a chance to do… something.
Towering doors loom at the far end of the chamber, silent and foreboding. Two guards flank the doors, clad in full armor, their faces hidden behind helmets save for their eyes—dark and gleaming with fierce intent.
We’re led to the doors and then there’s a pause. No one speaks, but it feels as if a conversation is happening. Without warning, the doors swing open—startling me—though no one touches them. I gasp but Ryatuv snorts in derision.
Open, they reveal a massive chamber beyond. The guard on the left pushes Ryatuv but he doesn’t move. Slowly he turns his head to stare at the guard. He hisses low, his tail lashing once against the stone floor.
“You,” Ryatuv says in a calm and even voice, “I will kill first.”
He says it so calmly, so matter-of-fact, that the deadly promise nearly slips past. The Urr’ki growl and the two guards by the door take one step forward, weapons sliding free from their sheaths. Ryatuv turns his head back to front and center then strides forward, chains clanking with every motion he makes.
I follow him into the chamber. The ceiling is so high it disappears into shadows despite the dozens of torches mounted to the walls, filling the air with the acrid smell of burning pitch. The floor beneath us is a sprawling mosaic, its colors dulled to shades of gray and ivory with age.
At the far end there is a dais rising up six platforms. On the top platform sits an ornate throne that looks like its carved out of wood, which would be rare and valuable indeed on the desert planet of Tajss. Almost as precious as water. One tier below, the Shaman reclines on a grotesque throne of bones, shadows clinging to him like extensions of the darkness in his own soul. Beside him are four Maulavi who stand like sentinels, their gazes void of emotion.
At the Shaman’s right stands Z’leni, the Urr’ki warrior who has watched over me. His posture is stiff, his gaze forward, unreadable. But I see the tension in his jaw, the twitching of his fingers as they slightly curl at his sides.
Fear and shock clamp down, stealing my breath. One of the guards shoves his hand into my back and I stumble. Trembling I walk the hall, stopping at the base of the dais. The guards force us to our knees. My heart pounds as the Shaman leans forward, his dark gaze settling on me.
“You, human… Elara,” my name slithers from his lips like a curse. “You mistake tolerance for mercy.”
I say nothing. Words are weapons here, and I have none sharp enough to cut through his cruelty. His gaze slides to Ryatuv.
“And you… Zmaj. An interloper. You thought you could take from me what is mine?”
Ryatuv lifts his chin. A fresh trickle of blood drips along the side of his face. One of his wounds has reopened. Still he looks regal, defiant, and impossibly, as if he’s in control.
“She is not yours.”
The Shaman laughs, a cold, hollow sound.
“Brave words from a broken thing.” Then, without ceremony, he turns to Z’leni at his side. “Kill him,” the Shaman commands, voice as cold as stone.
The chamber stills. Z’leni doesn’t move. For a moment, I think, barely dare to hope, he will refuse. He doesn’t speak, but his fingers twitch, curling into a reluctant fist. The hesitation is brief, but it is there. The Shaman’s smile fades.
“Did you not hear me?”
“I did,” Z’leni says, his voice quiet and controlled, but there’s something beneath it. Something strained.
The Shaman tilts his head, considering. “Then obey.”
The warrior walks down the dais, unsheathing his blade as he approaches. The scrape of metal is deafening. Panic rises in my throat.
“You don’t have to do this,” I whisper, desperate. “You know this isn’t right.”
His eyes flick to me, just for a second. Then he lifts the blade. Ryatuv doesn’t flinch. He meets death with steady resolve. Z’leni grips the weapon tighter, his hesitation stretching unbearably long.
“Do not test me.” The Shaman’s voice is somehow colder.
The blade hovers over Ryatuv’s throat. I can barely breathe. And then?—
The blade flashes downward.
A cry rips from my throat, but before the steel slices flesh, Z’leni shifts. A blur of motion, a twist of his wrist and his blade flies, spinning through the torchlight.
It embeds itself deep in the throat of one of the Maulavi standing at the Shaman’s side. The Urr’ki gurgles, clawing at the hilt before collapsing in a heap, blood pooling beneath its twitching limbs.
The chamber erupts.
Ryatuv lunges, snapping his restraints as if they were nothing. I gape. Those chains were never real restraints. They were always a lie. The two Urr’ki warriors flanking him take a step back, dropping into battle stances, and it hits me. They never bound him at all. They were never loyal to the Shaman.
A roar shatters the moment of stunned silence as the remaining Maulavi surge forward, their eyes wild with fury. Ryatuv doesn’t hesitate. He charges, slamming into the nearest one, his dark claws raking across its chest in a brutal arc. The Maulavi screams, staggering back, and Ryatuv twists, using momentum to hurl it into another.
I don’t have time to marvel at his strength. Z’leni is grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me to the side. I look at him, wild-eyed and confused.
“Run,” he barks, shoving me in a direction.
I stumble but obey, my pulse hammering. This is happening. This is real. The Shaman’s voice is a furious snarl behind us.
“Traitors!” the Shaman howls. “Seal the gates! Kill them all!”
Z’leni rushes ahead of Ryatuv, passing him and taking the lead. Ryatuv hooks his arm around my waist and slows his stride just enough for me to keep up, barely. Two Urr’ki warriors, Ryatuv’s supposed captors, fall into step behind us. I glance over my shoulder, the hairs on back of my neck on end from fear. One of them is gripping a short, curved blade, the other has a wicked looking spear. I don’t know their names, but I do know that they are our best chance of escaping.
Dozens of Urr’ki rush into the hall, emerging from the shadows, coming from every direction. It’s clear they were waiting, for this or for something. Some wear the robes of the Maulavi, some are armored like guards. All are giving chase to us. Ryatuv curses under his breath, shifting in front of me, his body tensing for a fight as two guards and a Maulavi block our path.
“No time for this!” Z’leni barks. “We need to move.”
One of the rogue Urr’ki guards flings his spear and impales a Maulavi. Blood blossoms around the spear, the Maulavi’s eyes widen as he grasps at the stick with one hand, the other waving as if trying to say, go on, I’m fine. He stumbles then drops to the ground, but the two guards with him are charging without hesitation.
Another Maulavi lunges from the side, jerking my attention off the fallen Maulavi. I stumble, my heel catching on uneven stone, and for a sickening moment, I’m falling.
A hand seizes my arm. Ryatuv yanks me upright and shoving me behind him in one seamless motion. The Maulavi never reaches me. Z’leni’s blade finds its throat first.
“Go!” Ryatuv roars, and we run.
We tear through the twisting tunnels, our footsteps hammering the ancient stones as chaos explodes behind us. My ankle is throbs with pain but it’s healed enough that it doesn’t stop me. The torches flicker wildly, the air thick with smoke and the stench of blood. Behind us, furious shouts echo as the Shaman’s forces give chase.
We sprint down a twisting passage, Z’leni leading, his movements sure despite the dim light. He knows this place. That realization sends a chill through me. How long has he been planning this escape? The walls resonate with the sound of pursuit, unrelenting. It’s only a matter of time before they catch us.
“We can’t outrun them,” I pant, chest burning. “Where?—”
“There.” Z’leni points ahead.
The wall looks like every other stretch of stone, seamless and unyielding. A few faint cracks mar its appearance, but there is clearly no way through it.
“What?” I pant.
Z’leni growls, running up to the wall. He runs his hands over the smooth surface then I hear something click. The wall silently slides to one side. Z’leni steps out of the way and makes a rapid gesture for us to go through. Ryatuv catches my arm, his grip firm but careful, yanking me forward into the unknown.
The stone wall slides shut behind the three of us. My legs and lungs burn and my ankle is throbbing like a second heart, so I take the moment to try and catch my breath. Bending over, resting my hands on my legs, and panting heavily.
“Keep moving,” Z’leni says.
Ryatuv takes my arm, gentler this time, and pulls me into motion. We walk a ways down the tunnel, which is too dark for me to see anything at all. I can’t even see my hand in front of my face and have no clue how either one of these guys are seeing anything.
“Wait,” Z’leni says at last.
I hear him moving around. Sounds of things shifting, something happening, but I don’t know what. Anxiety crawls over my skin like bugs. I rub my arms and a shiver goes over my spine.
There is a spark and I yelp in surprise. Steel strikes stone and there’s another spark then a torch flickers to life. The red-orange flames illuminate both Z’leni and Ryatuv’s faces and my heart skips a beat. They’re so different, yet there is a similarity to them that is both attractive and comforting. A protectiveness in their eyes as they both look at me.
I swallow. Hard.
Z’leni moves back down the tunnel the way we came with the torch in hand. He stops a few feet away and reaches up then yanks down on a rusted chain embedded in the stone. The ceiling groans. I hear what sounds like ancient gears shifting and then a rumble. With a grinding roar, a slab of stone crashes down, sealing the tunnel behind us in a cloud of dust and finality.
Panic and exhaustion crash over me in waves. I double over, hands braced on my knees, gulping air that tastes of ash and fear. My limbs tremble and every muscle screams in protest. Silence stretches in the darkness.
“That won’t hold them forever,” Ryatuv says, his voice rough.
“It doesn’t need to. Only long enough for us to disappear,” Z’leni says, exhaling sharply.
I gasp a few more breaths until my nerves calm enough to quit making every muscle so tense they hurt. I straighten and wipe sweat from my brow.
“And where do we go now, exactly?”
Z’leni meets my gaze, and in the dim light, I see something there. Determination, resolve… guilt.
“To the only place the Shaman cannot reach us,” he says. “The undercity.”
Ryatuv stiffens, which can’t be a good sign. His tail rasps across the floor, twitching spasmodically.
“The undercity is a myth,” Ryatuv says flatly. “They say it is a graveyard. That no one who finds it comes back.”
Z’leni’s jaw tightens. He glares at Ryatuv, squaring his shoulders, daring the Zmaj to defy him.
“Then we better make sure we’re the first,” Z’leni says, his voice low and dangerous.
Ryatuv’s tail rises from the floor and his wings snap partially open, restrained by the narrow tunnel. Z’leni takes a half-step towards him, leaning forward, his hands clenching into tight fist. The two of them are clearly heading into one really big dick waving contest which we absolutely don’t have time for.
“Enough,” I say, stepping between the two of them. “Is there any other choice?”
I ask, looking between the two of them, honestly hoping someone has a different idea because this whole undercity thing sounds like a place I want to be only slightly less than staying here with the Shaman. They look at each other. Z’leni growls, Ryatuv hisses, but neither offer a suggestion.
“Nothing?” I prompt. Neither of them say a thing but they do stop glaring at one another so I take the win I’m offered. “Then we need to move, no?”
Z’leni grunts and pushes his way past Ryatuv and me. He takes the lead and we move deeper into the tunnels, away from the Shaman and his forces.
I’m lost in moments. We twist, turn, slope down, slope up, and multiple times there are other tunnels crisscrossing our path. All the while the air grows colder and damper.
“This way,” Z’leni urges. “Stay close.”
I do. I have to.
Because ahead lies only darkness—and if I lose them, I’ll never find my way back.