Chapter 19 Mullayne #2
The broad-shouldered woman sighed. “Risana was the first I’ve seen. They don’t take them often. But she got what she wanted, eventually.” She rolled over in her blankets, her back to Mull. The man who’d arrived with him only grunted.
When he heard the breathing of the other two even out, Mull stepped out of his bedroll, his mind whirring. He couldn’t escape, he knew that now; besides, escaping would mean giving up, and he wasn’t ready to do that. They’d taken Risana into the den.
He couldn’t work that hard. It wasn’t because he didn’t have the will for it.
He had plenty of will. It was his body that wouldn’t cooperate.
Maybe if he stayed here for a year, he could build the sort of strength that she’d had.
But he didn’t have that long. The whole realm would be restored by then, and the tomb might be buried beneath the magic of new growth.
Well, his body wouldn’t cooperate, but his mind was always willing, and as soon as the opportunity had presented itself, he’d left despair by the wayside. He might not be able to work harder, but he could always work smarter.
No sentry manned the latrine ditch. He gathered materials from the ground, from the refuse pile. Scant bits of metal and rope and wood. Not what he was used to at his workshop. But it would be enough.
Blisters opened as he turned the broken wheelbarrow over, pulling and poking at it to find the issues. The supervisor’s fire was out; he must have gone to sleep hours ago. A discarded wheel was buried beneath a burned stretch of cloth.
There was something soothing in the work, something familiar.
Tired as he was, his palms burning, he was able to forget for a moment that he’d thrown himself into this predicament wholeheartedly, that he might never come out of it.
That his cousin, Sheuan, had agreed to the whole thing a bit quicker than he would have liked, in spite of knowing how dangerous it was.
The sliver of the sun crested the horizon. Mull tested the broken wheelbarrow. It was bulkier than it had been before, the wheel smaller, but it worked.
“Hey!” The supervisor’s voice bounced from the rocks. “What are you doing down there?” He slid down into the ditch and reached for the wheelbarrow.
“Don’t touch that,” Mull snapped back. Everyone always ruining his things by touching them. Using the filters to protect against restoration – it was absurd, Sheuan had never tested it. Not that there was an easy way to test that, he supposed.
The supervisor was glaring at him, though he hadn’t, thank the gods, touched the wheelbarrow.
“The biggest problem with this broken wheelbarrow was the wheel. I replaced that and the cross-brace.”
One fur-covered arm reached out and seized one of the handles. “This isn’t what you were told to do.”
Mull lifted a hand. “Wait! You said you needed more workers. This helps. This gets more done.” The supervisor wrenched the wheelbarrow away, the newly affixed wheel creaking. “I’m trying to help you!”
“You think you’re so smart?”
Mull gritted his teeth, swallowing back the worst of his retorts. “I’m not stupid.”
“Yeah? Then why are you here?”
He froze. There really wasn’t anything he could say to that.
The expedition down Tolemne’s Path had been a mistake.
This was also a mistake. Maybe he wasn’t smart, at least not in the ways that actually mattered.
He hadn’t found a cure for Imeah. He hadn’t made it to Unterra.
He hadn’t even managed to make it inside the den.
“You stay where you’re told to stay.”
When the first blow struck his knee, it felt to him like a natural conclusion. He didn’t even raise his arms to defend himself. Instincts kicked in after the third blow, when he curled inward, his hands lifted over his head.
“Didn’t that one just get here?” a voice drawled. “Already causing trouble, is he?”
A shift in the light as the supervisor moved to the side, his shadow retreating from Mull’s eyes. The winged woman who’d taken Risana into the den was adjusting her robes after using the ditch, her godkilling dagger at her side.
“He snuck away from his bedroll last night.”
“Trying to escape?”
When the supervisor didn’t answer, Mull shouted back, “No. I did that.” He pointed to the wheelbarrow.
The godkiller strode over to them, then bent to examine the wheelbarrow. “Interesting.” She took one handle, lifted it, and moved it back and forth, the wheels creaking. But his repair held. “Looks like he fixed it. With garbage.”
“I didn’t give him permission to go digging in the refuse pile.”
She ignored the supervisor, her attention turning to Mull. “Can you read?”
“And write. Multiple languages.” He bit his tongue.
Her eyes narrowed. He’d give himself away like this, but it was hard not to feel some hope, and with it, a trickle of pride.
He met her hard-edged gaze, doing his best not to flinch.
Her irises were a dark hazel, the pupils contracting as her brow smoothed.
“I’m taking another away from you, I’m afraid,” she said to the supervisor. “Kluehnn will want this one.”
The altered man swore, casting his club to the dusty ground. “How am I expected to do my job?”
“If need be, get in there with the rest of them,” she said lightly. And then she was touching Mull’s arm with surprising gentleness, helping him to his feet.
He’d done it.
The next moments were a haze to him, his mind swimming with success.
He gathered only slim impressions – the maw of the den’s mouth, the coolness of the air inside, the many white-stitched eyes against gray cloth.
She led him to a small bathing chamber, where she found a fresh set of clothes for him.
He took a moment to breathe when he was alone, hiding his filter beneath the gray clothes, the white-stitched eye staring at him.
No warmed bath here, no soaking tub. But he relished every dip of the ladle into the barrel, the feel of the cold water sluicing over his skin.
He was in the den. Once he got his bearings and figured out what they wanted of him, he’d find the tomb.
The altered entered without knocking. Thankfully he was already dried and dressed in the gray tunic and pants, his filter tucked up against his skin. “Eat this.” She approached with no further preamble, something small and white held in her hand.
For a moment, he hesitated. “I’ll get to ask a boon?”
“You will be rewarded.”
That wasn’t exactly what he’d asked. But he couldn’t really see a way to refuse. Better to earn himself some favor through compliance. Her hand grasped his chin before he could take the piece of food from her. He opened his mouth, startled, and she placed it on his tongue.
He chewed and swallowed before he could think too much about it. It had the softness of steamed bread, with a sweet and gritty paste in the middle. A sticky residue lingered on his teeth. He swiped his tongue over it.
“Follow me.”
“Are we going to see one of Kluehnn’s aspects?” Mull dared as they walked through the tunnels. The floor sloped down, and soon he lost any sense of how deep they’d gone. Lanterns lined the walls at regular intervals, illuminating the faces of strangers as they passed. She didn’t answer him.
Finally, they entered a vast chamber, stalactites dripping from the ceiling. The floor was lined with cushions, a wooden altar taking vague shape from the darkness at the other end of the hall.
She led him toward it.
Two other godkillers stood there, violet gems winking at their waists. Her cohort. She must have spoken to them while he’d bathed, because they said nothing, only watched as he approached.
A pit appeared in the floor, as wide as Mull was tall. The godkiller stopped at the edge, her cohort on the other side.
He knew, from his studies, that Kluehnn’s aspects often existed deep underground, ascending to speak to his followers or to perform one function or another in the den. His step slowed. The godkillers watched him, expectant.
He peered over the edge. Only darkness met his gaze.
The longer he looked, the more he realized: it wasn’t the depth that created the black, but a cloud, a haze, a mass of smoke.
It moved, shifting like the surface of the ocean.
His mind went immediately to the descriptions of restoration, the black, smoky wall sweeping over the landscape and overtaking both man and animal alike.
“Is that where Kluehnn—”
A palm touched his back. The light prick of claws.
And then the godkiller shoved him into the hole.