Bride of Thunder (54 page)

Anyway, there was no choice. She had to do anything that might let her spread the warning about the plot shaping at Chan Santa Cruz—and she had to do it quickly!

Pushing herself erect, she found that her feet were too tightly bound to take even the tiniest shuffle forward. She sat on the rock floor and hitched herself toward the supply sacks on her buttocks, feet, and hands. There might be a knife for food.

Her wrists and ankles were chafed raw when she reached the ledge and peered into the bags, tilting them over so she could examine the contents: a shawl and cotton Indian dress, sandals, more candles for the lantern, fruit, sour corn dough, tortillas, dried meat, and honey.

No knife or machete. His own clothing and personal trove must be in some other part of this cavern, perhaps near the outer entrance, where he must have left his Pacal mask and garments.

Disappointed, though it had been a forlorn hope that Eric would leave a sharp blade near her, Mercy frowned at the lantern and wondered if she could endure the searing if she could get her wrists above the flame. It would be tricky, even forgetting the pain, to get her hands where the flame could reach the rope. She held that for a last resort and scanned her prison.

The stalagmites and stalactites?

Those near her had no jagged, sharp surfaces, but over by one of the walls her sharp gaze fell on a stone shelf where a jutting growth had broken off, leaving an edge that looked thin.

Resuming her awkward method of moving, Mercy reached the wall and struggled upright. The broken rock, like a shark's teeth, stood at an angle. Mercy brought up her hands and began to saw at the ropes, ignoring the scraping cuts on her hands and arms.

The rope was new and tough, and it bit into the other side of her wrists, but the strands
were
severing. Mercy's heart pounded and she pulled her hands back and forth as fast as she could. Eric would surely be gone for hours, but if she made too many false turns it might take her days to find a route out. And he might find her!

Every minute was precious. Exhausted, she had to stop several times to catch her breath before doggedly resuming the tedious, painful labor. But at last she could pull apart the last few strands and let the bloodstained hemp fall to the ground.

A memento for Eric. She took grim joy in thinking of his rage when he saw what had happened, that his bonds hadn't held her. Of course, if he was right, if there really was no other way out than that passage blocked off by the boulder, he'd catch her or she'd perish in one of the pits or rivers, but she meant to try anything to escape.

Sitting down, she worked at the knots on her ankles. They were most securely tied. Her fingers tugged at them uselessly. She stood up again, decided it was impossible to use the protrusion to cut the ropes, but gave a cry of delight as she saw a broken-off spear of the stalactite lying in the shadows. Crawling around to it on hands and knees, she made comparatively short work of the rope, rubbed her, ankles to restore proper circulation, and slipped into the dress and sandals. Wrapping food and all the candles into the shawl, she tied that around her waist along with a water gourd, hastily sorted out the black coral necklace from the mass of jewelry, fastened it around her neck, picked up the lantern, and plunged through the mineral-encrusted arch.

The corridor narrowed gradually till she was doubled over, though the width was ample. Then that decreased, dwindling to a small hole. She hesitated.

What lay beyond? A river, a pit? Bending lower, she thrust the lantern ahead of her. It yellowed the rounding walls that stretched as far as she could see before darkness swathed the passage. She shifted her supplies around to fit beneath her stomach, pushed the lantern in front, and crawled into the tunnel. The only way Eric could enter would be by wiggling along in a prone position.

This comforting thought helped her get through the occasional wetness and slime she encountered. The air was thick, heavy. Her lungs strained for more oxygen; her knees grew sore from the rock, though it was smooth. After what seemed an interminable time, the passage began to widen.

Gratefully standing erect, Mercy flexed her knees and shoulders and hands, lit a new candle from the one nearly used up, and saved the stump. If she had to wander for days in this total stifling blackness, she'd be glad for any way to extend the light a few more minutes. With this horrid possibility in mind, she watched for any wood that might have been washed into the cavern by water or wind, but there was nothing from the outer world.

She emerged in a great chamber, much larger than the other, a fantasy of pinnacles and weird hanging masses of white tinged with pale green and gold.

And here, in the splendor, terror began, for there were at least five openings off the vast arena. Which to choose? Did some lead out, others to cul-de-sacs or danger? All were of roughly equal size. In the hope that some flicker of light, draft of air, or other sign might help her decide, Mercy went to each orifice and peered inside and stood alert for a freshness of air, any distant light.

Nothing, except the last tunnel, where her gaze met solid rock. She had to go inside only a few paces to make sure that this was only a small cave. Little time was lost there. Putting down the lantern while she sipped from the gourd, Mercy pondered, keeping a tight leash on the panic that hovered as close as the humid air.

Never had taking the right direction been so important; never had she felt so strongly the anxiety, the pressure, of being in the center with the power to move any way but having to do it blindly, not knowing what waited ahead. But only in moving, choosing, was there any hope at all—for her, those she loved, and countless others.

Sighing, she picked up the lantern and took the passage opposite the one she'd followed, hoping that a principal vein ran through the honeycomb and would come out somewhere on the surface. The size of the corridor seemed to justify her theory, but soon there was a side corridor that seemed, upon brief examination, to be as big as the other.

With a shrug, she continued on, deciding to stick to this hall unless it became impassable or another branch looked infinitely more promising. Thus armored against indecision, she passed a dozen openings, checking each one for light, sound, or the promise of richer air. She had been walking so long that she began to fear that the passage wove itself in convolutions and might even feed back into the way that led to the prison cave.

The candle burned low, spluttering the wick's protest at sinking into melted wax. With a thrill of alarm, Mercy lit another candle and again salvaged the stump.

There were five candles left, perhaps fifteen hours, after this one's dying. If she wasn't out by then—
you'll just go on slowly, feeling your way
. And when the food runs out? The water?

Do your best. Last as long as you can. It's at least better than waiting for Eric and Xia to launch a holocaust. And don't think about it till you have to. You might find water. With that, a person can live a long time without food. You're incredibly lucky to have food and light
.

Steadied, Mercy moved along as quickly as she could while watching the sides of the cavern, which converged to a small space leading upward, the bottom littered with rock. She hoped she wouldn't have to crawl here. The height stayed sufficient, but the walls were sometimes so close together that she had to thrust her supplies ahead of her and worm her body after, flinching at the clammy stone encasing her almost to immobility. Still, though sometimes she had to hold her breath and push, she always squeezed through.

One good thing: even if Eric somehow tracked her this far, he could never manage this defile, and she wouldn't have been physically much threatened by anyone who could, unless they were armed. Unless the maze circled back to an accessible area, she was safe from him.

The upward shaft expanded into a low, wide glimmering of contorted mineral formations. The air was so dense that she felt she could scarcely breathe. Perspiration and dampness beaded her face and neck, forming as soon as she wiped herself off, till she finally tore off the bottom of the dress and tied it around her forehead to keep moisture from running into her eyes.

The ceiling sloped down at the far end, vanishing into darkness. Was that a soft murmuring? Stooping to avoid stalactites, weaving through turrets and miniature mountains, she made her way to the opening.

With each step the sound increased, the continuous sibilation of water. Would the tunnel end at one of the vast underground rivers, or would there be some way to cross or move alongside it?

Bending low, Mercy gazed at water rippling with gold flickers from the lantern. It seemed to flow from beneath the cavern where she stood. She guessed that it was the same flow that fed the
cenote
where she'd been sacrificed, running under the rock to emerge at various levels.

Would it finally break out under open sky?

There was no bridge across, and the opposite wall rose sheer above the water. There weren't, in sight, any ledges or ways to go on without following the river.

So, either get in that water, swim or float with it, or go back and try another one of the several passages from that largest amphitheater.

All rivers weren't deep! With sudden hope, Mercy took off her sandals, pulled off her dress, and lowered herself gingerly into the cold stream … down, down, stretching with her toes as she sank to her chin.

No footing. For a distance, at least, she'd have to swim. The current wasn't swift, but it would be impossible, for far, to hold the lantern above it while she maneuvered downstream. She'd have to leave the shawl, which would become heavily sodden, and carry only food that the water wouldn't ruin.

If the river flowed into rock where she couldn't follow, if it swept into a chasm, again presenting her with dark passages to choose between, when perhaps she'd have no light and little food, there'd be no turning back. Her fate was whatever lay ahead.

But to go all the hours back, return to a region where by now Eric might have followed, then pursue another corridor that might end at impenetrable rock or even this same river …

The water should flow out someplace—maybe after waterfalls and gorges, maybe after narrowings only water could rush through. Mercy prayed to be right and chose it.

She drank sparingly and emptied the gourd, which she could fill again if she left the river, and ate the sour dough and a tortilla, regretfully leaving the rest on a ledge. It seemed unlikely that anyone would ever see it, but if they did, they might think it an offering to the spirits of this place.

Savoring honey from a gourd, Mercy left most of it and one mango. She tied her sandals, dry meat, water gourd, a mango, several guavas, and the candles into her dress, which she tied securely around her waist. If she had to discard the lantern, the candles would be useless, but she couldn't risk being without them if the river brought her to another cavernous passage.

She thought of her father and drew strength from a sense of his knowing and caring about her peril; she thought of Zane and longed with real physical pain to see him at least once more. She smiled and blessed Dionisio, wished for him life and all good things good. Then, holding the lantern above the secret river, she slipped into it and began to swim.

23

Her arm soon ached from the strain of keeping the lantern dry. She kept dipping her feet down in the hope of finding footing, but there was none. The river might be up to her nose or unfathomably deep. It didn't matter. If she couldn't touch bottom, rest her arm, the water might as well be the ocean.

She had no idea of which way the river was carrying her, whether she'd emerge farther from or closer to La Quinta. Her dream of finding her way there or to some settlement seemed wilder by the moment. The lantern skimmed the water. She raised it again, but her numbed arm soon gave way. Changing it to the other hand, she swam on, moved more by the current than her cumbered efforts, and changed the lantern again.

The tunnel stayed smooth and rounded on either side, with no protrusions or visible rocks, except for the incrustations on the ceiling. These were curving, polished, as if the river rose high enough at times to keep them worn away.

The water was cold. Mercy chilled even more at the thought of being trapped in a subterranean flood, battered against the stony passage, drowned if the river rose to the ceiling. To die here, in darkness, where she'd never be found, far from the light and sweet air … Mercy shifted the lantern, then stiffened as she heard sputtering she could no longer ignore.

How could she change candles? There was no place to support herself while she got out a new candle and removed the old one. Good God! Why hadn't she thought of that and kept another candle easily reachable for lighting? There was no way she could stay afloat without paddling with one hand.

Groaning, she took the single chance—that the lantern would float long enough for her to fumble out a taper and light it before the lantern submerged. It was made of tin with punctured patterns and an open top.

Mercy let the lantern settle gently on the water, reached in the same instant for her supplies, swimming with one arm. Her fingers closed on soggy meat, a guava, then found hard wax. But the lantern was starting to list. Mercy grabbed for it.

Too late. Mercy sobbed. The light gone? It couldn't be! As frightening as the labyrinth had been, she'd been able to see, make judgments.

She was blinded. She might float till she starved in this murky blackness, or drowned from exhaustion and chill. Why hadn't she gone back, preserved the precious light?

Gasping, weeping with despair and dread, Mercy kept afloat by instinct till the feeling of overwhelming horror had passed. She couldn't see; neither could blind people, but many were amazingly self-sufficient. It was learning to operate by different guides, subtleties one usually ignored.

There was the chance she might be carried past some corridor, but, apart from that, did it really matter? If she were about to go over a precipice, the water would probably take her in spite of her struggles. Since there was almost nothing she could do about dangers, being able to see them wasn't of much actual advantage.