Chapter 6
Blaze
The tunnel entrance looms before us, a cavern of impenetrable darkness. I rummage in my satchel until my fingers graze the cool glass surface of the nightlight.
Think of it as your very own sunbeam, Hal had said, his hand wrapped round mine. As though I’m giving you a little piece of my gift.
‘Let’s go,’ I say.
At the sound of my voice, the box lights up, illuminating the way ahead.
I take a step forward, then another, biting my tongue so hard I taste blood. Flint mutters something – a prayer, I think – before following me into the tunnel.
The nightlight glows brightly in the gloom, casting shadows across the walls. The ground is cracked and uneven.
I tense at a scraping sound behind me, but it’s only Flint with the chalk, scoring a line on the stone. It seems sensible to mark our route, especially since the passageway soon forks into three.
‘What now?’ Flint whispers.
I shrug. ‘Trial and error, I suppose. You choose.’
We walk in silence, Flint continuing to score the walls. Twice we’re required to double back on ourselves when we hit a dead end. After a while, I lose track of how many left and right turns we’ve taken.
Hours pass. I wonder privately if we’ll ever manage to find our way out on the other side of the Ridge, or if we’ll be forced to give up and retrace our steps back to Isolla.
Flint stays close, nervously plucking the string of his bow like a harp.
‘Are you all right?’ I ask over my shoulder.
‘Oh yes, Blaze. I’m having a brilliant time. And yourself?’
I choose to ignore his sarcasm. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of admitting that yes, maybe we should have stayed the night in Isolla.
Because in truth, I’m bone-tired. If it weren’t for the thought of whatever flesh-eating creatures are said to roam these tunnels, I’d be tempted to find some quiet corner and curl up.
Time stretches on. It must be almost dawn by now.
All of a sudden, and despite the fact I haven’t uttered a word, Flint shushes me and moves to stand at my side. He sniffs once, sharply, then grimaces.
‘What is it?’ I whisper, holding the nightlight a little higher.
He doesn’t respond, only beckons for me to follow him.
My answer is waiting for us at the next bend.
A man – or what’s left of one, anyway – sitting slumped against the wall, more bone than flesh.
His clothes hang in tatters, stained the deep black of old blood.
His nose is missing, as well as most of his fingers, and his chest is ripped open from abdomen to throat.
The stench of rotting meat hangs heavy in the air, and I can’t help but gag.
‘Poor bastard,’ Flint mutters.
‘What do you suppose did this to him?’ I ask weakly.
‘I don’t know,’ says Flint darkly. ‘But I’d rather not stick around to find out.’ He takes my arm and hauls me away from the bloodied corpse.
It isn’t long before the passageway opens out before us, becoming a wide, cavernous chamber. A single drop of water lands on my forehead. I’m so busy looking up at the ceiling that I don’t notice what lies at my feet until a crunch echoes through the air.
Bones.
They litter the stone floor – some large, some small, some grey and crumbling, others white and gleaming and undoubtedly human.
‘Flint,’ I whisper, but he’s already moved past me, bending down to examine something lying atop the sea of carcasses, papery and translucent, like … skin.
Then I hear it – a blood-curdling hiss.
Flint is on his feet in an instant, bow in hand, shoving me behind him.
The sheer size of the snake steals what breath I have left, and when it opens its mouth I see a forked tongue and a pair of curved fangs as long as my forearm.
The first arrow bounces off the dark scales as easily as a skimming stone. The snake blinks its huge slit-pupilled eyes and angles its head, sizing us up. Snapping fills my ears as it slithers towards us. I try to summon my water gifts, but I’m too frightened to think clearly.
Flint takes a step backwards and fires another arrow. ‘Bullseye,’ he mutters.
The snake rears back, jerking its head from side to side and releasing a deafening hiss as blood begins to pour in rivulets from its right eye socket.
Triumph temporarily swamps fear, and I manage to shoot a flurry of ice shards at its head. Flint darts to the left, aiming for the snake’s other eye, but the creature is writhing so wildly he can’t get a clear shot. I send another burst of ice, trying to slow its movements.
A scaled monster, a stone arena – it’s like the first trial all over again. Except this time I have so much more to fight for. So much more to lose.
There’s a dull crack, and I glance round to where my brother stands clutching his bow, which has been split clean in half. The snake stops and turns towards Flint, who drops the useless splinters, backing away into the wall.
Why doesn’t he use his fire?
As far as I know, my brother hasn’t so much as lit a candle since the incident.
I tried to coax a fire out of him on several occasions during our journey to Isolla, but there was always some excuse – it would draw too much attention, he was saving his strength, he preferred cold stew.
Yet I’m going to need Flint to take his flames out of retirement, and soon.
The sound of my footsteps crunching over bones deflects the snake’s attention.
It turns again, advancing on me instead, one eye glinting furiously, the other a bloodied pulp, streaming red.
I raise my hands, letting fury take hold.
But the snake only sheds the ice that begins to coat its scales like a second skin.
‘What’re you doing?’ Flint howls helplessly from the other side of the cave.
I wait until the snake is just feet away – until I can smell the carrion on its breath.
I count one heartbeat. Two.
The creature lunges, ready to devour me whole. But I’m faster, thrusting my arm upward and lodging the bone I’d been concealing behind my back into its mouth.
I become aware of a sudden searing pain in my right arm before I lose my footing and my grip on the nightlight.
It bounces a few paces away, fracturing the light across the walls.
The snake is bucking and thrashing as it attempts to eject the bone from its jaws.
I roll to the side, grab the nightlight and scramble to my feet.
‘Flint!’ I yell.
And then my brother is there, clinging to the snake’s back, an arrow clamped between his teeth.
I gasp as the snake finally snaps the bone wedged inside its mouth.
It bears down on me, just as Flint stabs the arrow into the side of its head.
The snake lurches so violently that Flint is thrown forward.
As I pull him up, I realize that I’m bleeding – my shirt sleeve is sticky with blood.
I must have nicked my arm on one of the snake’s fangs.
That’s when my body begins to turn sluggish and leaden. The sharp pain in my arm is dulled somewhat by a strange heaviness which slackens my every movement.
Giving my head a little shake, I reach inward for my anchors but my mind is vacant. My emotions are a shifting blur, my water gifts useless, dried up.
What’s happening to me?
I trip over my own feet, slumping sideways. Flint catches hold of me, shouting urgently into my ear. Only, his words make no sense – the syllables are all scrambled. He starts to back away, hauling my boneless body with him as the snake advances.
I try to speak but my tongue feels like a dead thing in my mouth.
My lips form the word.
Fire.
But Flint has begun to shake, his breaths coming in gasps, beads of sweat dewing on his brow. I think of the way he hurled a ball of flame down the throat of the cobra in the Keep. The way he dusted himself off as though it were nothing.
‘Flint,’ I rasp.
Our backs slam into stone. My brother turns his head to look at me, panic in his eyes. I stare back at him, willing him to act, willing a wall of fire to erupt and save us both.
My voice rises to a scream. ‘Fire!’
A split second later, the flames leap forth in a burning, billowing cloud.
The snake is thrown backwards by the force of the blast and flops down on to the bone-strewn floor, dead.
Smoke rises just as the walls start to tremble. Red sandstone dust falls from above.
I let go of Flint to shelter beneath my arms as debris begins to rain down on our heads. There’s a noise like a rumble of thunder, and I look up to see cracks running along the length of the ceiling, cutting deep fissures into the surface of the stone.
A shriek rips from my mouth as the ceiling caves in.
But a pair of hands shoves me hard, and I’m thrown forward, narrowly avoiding being crushed by a giant slab of rock.
I slide down a wall, my body overcome by heaviness.
And somewhere in the haze, I recall the snake’s fangs, gleaming white and dripping with …
Venom.
I’m half buried in the depths of the Ridge, and I’ve been bitten by a venomous snake.
I can’t feel my fingers. I can’t feel my right arm. Is it still there? I can’t tell. I can’t see either, and I realize that the tunnel is now drenched in darkness, the only source of light the gentle orange glow of dying embers clinging to blood-soaked scales.
‘Flint,’ I croak, reaching out for him. ‘Where are you?’ I scrabble around, groggy and delirious, coughing on the dust floating thick in the air. ‘Flint.’
But Flint makes no reply. Because Flint isn’t here.