3 A Promise #3
The Guard wasn’t about safety, it was about risk, about protecting others even if it meant dying in the dark.
She couldn’t assume this task was without danger.
The jump from the cliff to the ledge had been risky.
With the wind and rain, she could have easily plummeted to the sharp rocks below, but Lysander had expected her to do it anyway.
He expected her to face whatever she would find in these tunnels, and like those who came before her, she would.
Her hand plunged into empty air and the rest of her nearly went with it. She jerked to a halt, heart hammering. Carefully shifting her weight back, she felt along the edge.
There was a gap, no more than two feet wide but falling to unknown depths.
She could attempt to lower herself in or continue over it.
She picked up a loose rock that was digging into her ribs and dropped it into the dark.
No sound followed. If she had fallen, it might have killed her.
Pressing flat to the stone, she eased herself over the space.
Time slipped by, maybe minutes, or hours, when the sharp unmistakable smell of salt hit her. Another space appeared and she reached forward, feeling to see if she would be able to lift herself over like before, but she was met with solid rock.
Down, then.
She lowered herself into the space, arms straining as her feet found only air. Her breath quickened, and she pointed her toes, her legs swinging as she desperately sought the ground below. She gripped the edge, her fingers grasping painfully at the slick rock.
Then she slipped.
The ground slammed into her, knocking the air from her lungs. Dragging in breaths through fitful coughs, blood pounding loudly in her ears, she stood slowly, arms out for balance.
She found no wall to steady herself on, so she reached up, trying to feel the ledge above.
It was of no use. She wasn’t tall enough.
What if she had gone the wrong way?
What if the tide came in and trapped her there, sweeping her away before she was able to climb back out to the others?
She fell to her knees and pressed her forehead into the wet stone. Her eyes shut, and with them exhaustion crept in, encouraging her to rest, to lie down for just a moment. She could continue once she’d taken a moment to sleep.
No. That was the leaves talking. She’d taken too many. She couldn’t stop now. Couldn’t let herself fall asleep and get caught in rising water.
She had no idea how long she had been down here, and as much as she had tried to remember every turn, she knew she was likely to get lost on her way back. And that was if she could even reach the ledge and find enough purchase to haul herself over it...
She slammed her fist into the ground, over and over, the pain a sharp anchor in the dark. Her knuckles stung, salt clawing at the cuts, but it kept the tiredness at bay. At least for now.
Willing her eyes open, she stared into the blackness, thinking over the instructions Commander Lysander had given her.
Retrieve the marker. Bring it back.
We will leave this passage open in case the tide blocks your return.
In case the tide blocked her return.
She straightened. The way out wasn’t the way she had come. His final words had been a clue.
She began crawling. The chamber was several feet wide, solid unforgiving stone in every direction.
Except one.
A tunnel sloped downward at the far end. She strained her ears. The faint lapping of water drifted up to her like the sweetest song she had heard.
This was it.
When the tide rose, it would fill the chamber, and she could float back to the ledge above. She would live.
But how would she live?
Working the orchards?
Tending to the sick?
No. That would not be her fate. She would need to find another way out.
Vaelira crawled, hope driving her faster now. The tunnel narrowed, and the sound of water grew louder. Her hand slapped into an icy puddle and she recoiled, gasping at its bite.
The tunnel was submerged, the way to the cavern blocked.
She cursed loudly, then shuffled awkwardly back up the incline, dreading the wait in the darkness. The slow rise of icy water as she waited to reach the ledge. Just the thought of it exhausted her.
She stopped her retreat.
Was she going to give up, after everything it had taken to get here?
If she returned without the marker, it was over.
The thought of emerging from the cliff empty handed was like a knife to the stomach. She could already picture Commander Lysander’s face, and the disappointment she would find there.
Then she pictured another face. A Captain’s face. And the lack of surprise on that face was what broke her.
Fear gnawed at her insides, but something steadier rose to meet it.
Breathe.
Move.
She turned back towards the flooded tunnel, heart pounding, her limbs growing heavier with each passing moment. There was a glow in the water, pale and shifting, like a living thing breathing beneath the tide.
Daylight.
She would have to do this now, or she wouldn’t be able to do it at all. Exhaustion yanked at her again, and she shook her head hard. She couldn’t let it drag her under. She scrambled forward, took a deep breath and dove.
The cold tore through her, pain blooming in her ears. Her lungs clenched but the tunnel widened beneath the water. She kicked hard, using her arms to pull herself along the tunnel walls.
Not much further.
The tunnel dimmed and panic surged. Her lungs constricted, burning and bellowing for air. She pulled, kicked, and thrashed until she burst from the tunnel, floating in a large expanse of water, her limbs flailing around her in the black.
There was nowhere to go. No clear path forward.
The darkness closed in, and her vision blurred.
She needed to breathe.
Her mind fogged with every second she resisted the urge, and then…
… she began to forget.
Why was she swimming so late at night?
It was far too dark to be out in the water. Mother and father would be furious.
What was that?
Soft light filled her vision.
Darkness returned.
The light came back, stronger this time.
It was warm.
She was being rocked so gently.
Soft shushing sounds made her eyelids droop as her fingers entwined in her mother’s dark curls.
How had she got home so quickly?
It doesn’t matter.
She reached for her mother’s cheek. Why was she crying?
Her hand brushed against something.
Something cold.
Something glowing.
Her fingers closed around it.