Chapter 18 Sadaré #2
I still can’t quiet my doubts, as accustomed as I am to my plans failing. “Why would the servants who can access the north tower not just use it go to the Blessed Isles, then?”
He frowns. “Because that would be bas—blaf—bafem—”
“Blasphemy?” I suggest.
“Yeah, basphlemy,” he says proudly.
I don’t bother correcting him—hiding a smile, despite everything. “Has anyone tried it?”
He thinks for a moment as we walk, his forehead scrunched up, and then solemnly nods. “But no one ever saw them again.”
“They were punished?” I ask, trying to quell my trepidation.
He shrugs one skinny shoulder. “They just didn’t come back.”
Maybe because they stayed in the Blessed Isles. Maybe they even found their way out of the underworld through the golden gate of legend. But perhaps I’m letting my hope run away with me before I’ve had the chance to run away.
We skirt under the fortress through the lower passages, and for once in my life—and death—I’m grateful that kings and queens, from my parents to the master of the underworld, prefer to keep servants out of sight in order to avoid being reminded of the work they’ve foisted upon others, hiding away such unsightly labor—and any question of fairness or their own worthiness—where they don’t have to acknowledge it.
I left my parents’ palace when I was barely older than this boy, to go live with my aunt when my powers as a witch were discovered.
On her island and under her exacting tutelage, I performed all my own labor without any servants to assist me.
And yet, I’ve realized since that such false division as exists here not only allows servants space for themselves where they’re not under the scrutiny of their sovereigns, risking their displeasure, but it also grants them access to places that most outsiders aren’t allowed.
These hidden back ways could even be used against their sovereigns if they so choose.
Such as this one, which apparently leads around the throne room and under another stretching hall, since the way grows longer and narrower, and the ceiling lower, than in any of the other passages.
The moisture on the bone walls gives me the impression that we’ve left the main keep and we’re out over the sea—which our view soon confirms. Steep, cramped stairs take us up into a discreet alcove at the far end of a different, if familiar windowed arcade spanning the crashing waves below.
We’re right in front of another set of doors like those that open onto my tower, or like the engraved wooden door to the mural-painted east tower, except these are black inlaid with gold.
At the opposite end of the hall, in the direction from which we came, are matching black doors that no doubt lead back to Isha’s throne room—which I just circumvented entirely.
I’ve reached the north tower, just like that. The gateway to the Blessed Isles. Because gods forbid Isha has to see to this place’s upkeep himself.
“The saddest room is at the top of the stairs just inside,” the boy whispers, nodding at the gold-filigreed doors before us.
“What else is there?” I whisper back, a nervous thrill running through me.
At least I’m doing something, however risky it might be. I can no longer wait around to simply forget Daesra, now that I know I’ve exhausted all other options.
“Just a big empty room that opens onto the bridge. There’s not even a door on the other side of it.” He shudders. “But the room smells bad and the bridge is long. Even though it goes to the Blessed Isles, I wouldn’t want to go on it. It looks dangerous.”
I recall the long, perilous bridge stretching from the south tower to the shores of hell and shudder at the thought myself. But if other shades regularly make this passage, so can I.
I bend to meet the boy’s eyes, squeezing his shoulders. “Thank you. You have to go now. I don’t want you to get sad.”
“I can go with you,” he protests. “I’m not scared!”
Except I’m not going to the room at the top of the tower, and I have no idea what I might face on the bridge or beyond. There’s no way I can lead him into such uncertainty and danger. If I make it safely across and reach the Blessed Isles on the other side, I’ll come back for him.
“Wait here,” I say firmly. “Stay hidden at the top of the stairs. If I’m not back before you count to one thousand, then I’ve decided I like the view up there and that’s where I want to sleep instead of my tower. Then you should go—keep looking for your mother.” I choke out the last words.
“But I don’t want to leave you alone in the sad room! I wouldn’t have showed you the way if I thought you’d stay!”
I brush his curls out of his panicked eyes. “Don’t worry. If I don’t come back soon, I’m sure Isha will find me.” The thought is far more frightening than assuring, but it seems to comfort him. “Count to one thousand, remember? You can do that, yes?”
I somewhat doubt it, but he nods with fresh determination.
“And then go find your mother,” I insist.
“All right,” he says glumly, though at least he sounds resigned. “But please come back, even if it’s after I count to a thousand. Maybe I’ll even count to it twice, just because I can.”
I can’t help smiling, despite the pressure building behind my eyes, making them burn. “I know you can.” I give him a fierce hug that surprises both of us. “I’m proud of you.”
And then I turn away from him, quickly easing open one of the doors before he can see that I’m already sad. Slipping inside, I close it softly behind me. I wait for a moment in the darkness inside, both to make sure he doesn’t follow me and to let my eyes adjust.
The boy was right—only a narrow staircase winds out of sight, up one side of the tower, while the rest of the space at the bottom is empty, with a yawning archway at the far side of the room that looks bright in the dimness.
The beginnings of a wide wooden bridge slope away from it, suspended on ropes over the churning sea.
I can’t see where it ends, because it eventually disappears into golden mist that’s as welcoming as warm sunlight above the colorless cold of the waves.
I take a deep breath, smelling brine along with something less pleasant—rotten meat?
—that could be from the sea itself. I don’t let it deter me. Not after I’ve come this far.
I creep through the darkness on light feet to reach the stone archway, where the wind catches my hair and tosses it around my shoulders.
Gripping the wall on one side, I peer out, my gaze inevitably falling to the waves far below.
I’ve seen this sea so many times, but never without anything between me and it, like now.
Silver gray with murky, stormy depths, the water suddenly reminds me of Isha’s eyes.
I fervently hope he’s not watching me right now.
Taking a shaky deep breath, I step out onto the first wooden plank, the silk panels of my tunic snapping around me, feeling even flimsier than they are.
I imagine only the silver chains wrapping around me keep them from tearing away entirely.
As wide as the bridge is, it sways gently beneath me in the wind, and I clutch the rough support rope to one side, as thick as my wrist, to keep my balance.
Gods, I still miss my witch’s powers, especially now, when I could use the protection more than ever. But I let the useless thought blow away.
I’ve only made it a few more steps when a low, rumbling growl rises from the mouth of the tower behind me, and a warm, humid gust hits my back that’s not the chill wind, smelling strongly of rot and iron.
If Isha hasn’t been watching me, perhaps something else has. I turn and suck in a gasp more like an inhaled scream.
Three sets of glowing yellow eyes stare back at me from the shadows—from three heads on one beast roughly the shape of a black wolf, yet with the scale of the elephant I once saw paraded around my father’s court.
The creature crouches in the bottom of the tower, almost filling the entire space with what looks like enormous wings curving out from its shoulders, though they’re hard to make out in the dimness.
One giant paw steps out onto the bridge, claws the size of daggers digging fresh gouges into the wood.
Somehow the rest of it begins to follow, one massive head at a time, as I back up wildly, no longer caring about whatever danger the bridge might pose.
Each of the three sets of slavering jaws are big enough to bite me in half with gleaming teeth as long as swords, dangling stringy bits of meat and thick strands of viscous saliva. That explains the smell.
The only coherent thought I can form is: Thank gods the boy didn’t come with me.
Once the heads are all through the opening, the shoulders squeeze out with each wing—indeed, it has wings, with black feathers as long as I’m tall.
The creature’s bulk barely fits on the bridge, so it flaps aloft to hover just above, the blasts of air hitting me so hard they nearly knock me over.
When the hindquarters fully emerge, a tail with a spiked tip whips behind it like colossal mace.
The three-headed beast resembles a wolf as much as Pogli does a lion, except with the difference in size reversed. It’s a chimera, but the biggest, most terrifying one imaginable. And I am most certainly its prey, based on how it’s looking at me.
I wheel around in sheer animal panic, and I flee.
Heels pounding the bridge, arms flailing, I sprint for my life, not caring that I’m already dead.
Great whooshes of air tell me that it’s rising in pursuit, but I don’t look over my shoulder to check.
I only run—and then I dive as it comes swooping overhead, its jaws snapping at where I just stood.
Saliva showers down like rain as I roll over the planks, scraping my arms and knees in my tumble.
I lift my head to find it hovering in front of me now, blocking the way to the Blessed Isles with slow sweeps of its wings, six yellow eyes trained on me, three curling lips lifted in dripping snarls.
I’m more than happy to return the way I came, if that’s what it wants. So that’s what I do, scrambling to my feet and running pell-mell back toward the tower.
It must want more than that, because I feel the wind of it chasing behind me.
Just when I smell the rot of its breath, I duck once more, throwing up my arms to cover my head.
Its teeth or claws or maybe the spikes of its tail snag my hand before losing it—my shadow hand, which rose as if by its own accord to protect me.
Fortunately, I feel no pain. Unfortunately, it’s enough to throw me off the bridge.
My scream is lost to my own ears over the roar of my plummet.
My spin through the air reveals the bone fortress perched on its towering dark cliffs as I’ve never before seen it.
Mirrored falls of smoky water pour out from either side, their plumed tails nearly turning to mist before they join the waves—the flow of the courtyard fountain, which I’ve followed after all.
As far below as the sea is, it rises up quickly to meet me with its cold, silvery embrace.
At the last moment, my shadow hand flies out first once again, and I tuck my head under the crook of my arm.
And then I hit.
My bones should have broken with the force, but since that shadowy substance isn’t mine and has no bones, I plow through the surface and plunge deep into the water without shattering anything that belongs to me.
It’s still a blow to my body like I’ve never felt before, the cold and wet the most violent and intimate of invasions.
The water tastes salty and rancid on my tongue.
I claw at my surroundings, trying to find which way is up in the murky darkness through stinging eyes. And then I freeze.
In the rippling gray light, I can make out shapes. A hand. A leg. A torso with only a head. There are bits and pieces of corpses floating all around me. When one of those heads turns to look at me with sightless pits for eyes, my next scream leaves me in a rush of bubbles.
The bubbles clear to show me something even worse.
Deep in the gloom, a sinuous mass changes course, curving around in my direction.
All I can see in the shadows is its dark outline, but I recognize the hulking shape.
It’s the same as the one I saw silhouetted by lightning in the waves outside of my tower.
And its gaping mouth has much the same structure as the skeletal jaws hanging over the dining table, big enough to swallow the giant slab of marble whole.
It’s more than big enough to swallow me. Even the corpses seem to lose interest in me in favor of shying away, though those jaws still engulf everything in its path without discrimination—because they’re already open wide and headed straight for me.
And then, in the darkness of the sea, a deeper darkness appears.