Chapter 15 #2
Compassion swells as I consider all that Cygnus has endured. I’m an expert on loneliness, and it’s not something I’d wish on my worst enemy. I have always had Mother. Even in the palace, I’ve managed to find a sense of community with Finn and Daisy, but who does Cygnus have?
“I’ll help you unlock the gates,” I finally say slowly. “On one condition.”
“Yes?”
“You start telling me the truth about everything. And you promise to never lie to me again.” My nostrils flare. “I’m done making decisions without all the information. If we’re working together, then I am your partner. An equal partner, who is equally informed on all things. Is that clear?”
A knot bobs in his throat. “I can try.”
“Is that a yes or a no? Because those are my conditions.”
He takes a deep breath. “Fine,” he says at last. “I promise not to lie to you.”
“Good.” I stand up. “Now, let’s go see about these gates.”
Cygnus, it turns out, came prepared for our adventure. From his satchel, he procures torches, flint and steel, writing materials, three days’ worth of food, several spools of white thread, and three round bottles of a green potion I don’t recognize.
“What’s this?” I ask, picking one up.
“It’s drakesbane.”
I almost reflexively chuck the bottle in alarm. “What the hell?” My gaze snaps back to Cygnus. “Were you planning on mentioning that?”
I know of drakesbane from my mother. The liquid explodes when it makes contact with oxygen, and was used liberally by Verdin’s soldiers during the Long War. It’s one of the few potions she’d never teach me to make.
“I had a friend source it for me,” Cygnus explains. “In case we encounter anything worse than the scorpions.”
“Worse?” I feel dizzy. “You shouldn’t be hauling that around. It’s a miracle you haven’t blown us up already.”
Cygnus takes it back gingerly, placing the potions back into his bag.
“You didn’t bring any other weapons?” I ask, holding out the torch.
He lights it. “I brought you?”
I scowl. “Very funny.”
The underground lake is fed by a cold, swift-moving river flowing from the deeper part of the cave. We walk close to the bank, following its curve as we ascend into the void. We crest a ridge after several minutes, and as flames illuminate the darkness, the darkness transforms.
My breath catches.
The path before us appears to stretch on and on for miles.
The walls have been carved out of the cavern itself, in the same dark, silver-veined marble that surrounds us.
From this vantage point, we have a perfect bird’s-eye view of the labyrinth layout.
In some places, the walls look unnatural—sharp angles and perfect curves—but in others, the path follows the natural rock formations.
Stalactites plunge into it, with stalagmites rising from other places, so the path looks as old as the cavern itself.
It might be. There is one wide entrance, an arced gate guarded with a crowned statue.
As we approach, I recognize the Goddess Elowyn, and my flesh tingles.
At the entrance, Cygnus stops to tie one end of the white thread to a boulder. He unspools the bobbin until he has a loose length of thread in one hand.
“After you,” he says.
Reluctantly, I step through the gate.
The tunnel is almost wide enough to lie down sideways. The walls are oddly textured.
I hold up my torch and the uneven ridges come sharply into focus, the fire casting their shapes into flickering outlines.
“These are runes,” I murmur, tracing a hand over a symbol I recognize.
“Can you read it?”
I bite my bottom lip. “Not that well.”
Mother was adamant I should learn the Elven runes, even though the common tongue is now used widely across the Midlands.
Until now, I never really saw the point.
But as onerous as I found the lessons, I’ve always appreciated the beauty of the ancient script.
I love the way the letters swirl back on themselves like coiling serpents, the tilting lines and playful dots accenting certain vowels.
As I walk ahead, the torch illuminates larger and larger sections of runes. I pick up on a few symbols I recognize: water, family, fyre, fate, and divinity. The writing goes on and on, swirling in circles until it disappears around every darkened corner.
It takes hours of trial and error, using the spools of thread to retrace our steps, but Cygnus and I follow the labyrinth until the passage finally widens and then opens up entirely.
I step into a cavernous space, behind which rises an enormous pair of doors.
The stone is smooth and unbroken, the carvings clean—not a single flaw mars its surface, like it was carved by the knife of the Gods themselves.
I suspect it was. The polished stone reflects our torchlights, illuminating orbs over distortions of our puzzled faces.
Midway between us and the doors stands a small pedestal with a silver chalice sitting atop it.
Cygnus approaches the chalice first. “There are runes around the base.”
I catch up with him and hold up my torch to read it, squinting. It takes several long moments to put everything together.
“‘I am always in your heart, and I can never be replaced. Once gone, I go forever, but you see me in every face.’” When I’ve finished reciting it, Cygnus’s annoyance matches mine.
“It’s a riddle?”
“I hate riddles,” I mutter.
Cygnus nods. “I’ve always been shit at them.”
I frown and examine the chalice more closely.
Decorative ivy encircles the handle. I glance up at the runes carved into the stone walls.
They’re underlined with a similar ring of vines.
The symbols stir an old mental image…something I almost remember.
“I think it…wants something for the door to open,” I slowly suggest.
“What do you mean?”
“Like, an offering. I don’t know.” I gnaw on my lower lip, scowl deepening. “But I think we’re supposed to fill the chalice. With a draught, maybe? Or some other kind of liquid?”
“Maybe we could blow it up?” Cygnus suggests.
“There’s a winning idea—blow up the cavern while we’re in it. I see no flaws in this plan.” My stomach growls to remind me that it’s been hours since I’ve eaten. How long have we been in here?
In silent agreement, we both sink to the floor. I turn the riddle over in my head until my sit bones ache, trying to elicit any possible meaning. I come up blank.
“What do you want to do?” I eventually ask. I feel cold and exhausted and useless.
Cygnus sighs with palpable disappointment. “Well we can’t go any farther until we figure out how to open the door, can we? I suppose we turn back.”
This feels like a highly anticlimactic conclusion to our struggle. “That’s it?”
Cygnus musses his hair. “What other choice do we have? Let’s go back to the palace. We can try to work out what the answer to the riddle is there.”
We look together back toward the entrance to the cave—the portal’s turquoise light is little more than a pinprick from this distance. Glancing sidelong at Cygnus, I see he’s wearing the same grim expression.
“Ready for a hike?”