Call the Rain (8 page)

Joral stopped short, and she ran into his back, nearly knocking the wind out of her. Or what was left of it. He stood as perfectly still as a wolf stalking its prey, and there was something in his alertness that reminded her of the Chieftess. She strained to hear what had stopped him.

The voices she had heard earlier were louder now. There were at least two men, talking easily. She caught the words “horse”, “surprise”, “wizard”, and then more laughter. The tongue was not Segra, but one of the western dialects. One closer to her homeland.

She tugged on Joral's sleeve to get his attention. Silently, she mouthed the word “Mulavi”, praying that he could read the lips in her expressionless face.

The grass ahead of them began to swish, the tops knocking a warning echoed by the thundering of her own heart. She looked wildly about. They could hide in the grass and hope that Mulavi passed them by.

Joral grabbed her firmly by the wrist and moved slowly. Painfully slowly, away from the voices, but then froze again. The knocking of the grass was all around them, not just coming from the direction of the voices. They were surrounded.

The waters of the invisible river called to her again. Suddenly she knew what to do. The river existed. And it offered her sanctuary.

She tugged free of Joral's hand and began to run, heedless of the grass. If they could just get there in time.

Joral's feet pounded along behind her trying to catch up. He tugged at her skirts. She yanked them away and whispered over her shoulder, “This way. Trust me.”

The singing of the river grew. The thundering of footsteps following them through the mud grew. Fear constricted Illista's chest and her sense of breathlessness grew with each step she took.

One of her blistered feet struck a root and she tumbled headlong into the mud. The dirt scratched her cheeks until they burned and the spiny grass shoots tore at her dress. And then Joral's arms were around her shoulders, hauling her to her feet.

“Okay?” he asked. The color in his cheeks was high from the sprint and his eyes burned with the focus of a hawk.

She touched her lip and winced as the stinging swelling under her fingers. She gasped, trying to catch her breath.

“We have to get back to my horse.”

Illista shook her head. “There is another way. A hiding place.”

“How do you know?'

The tallest branches rustled nearby and Illista could see Joral tense.

“I just know. It is close. I can hear it.”

She closed her eyes and followed the song, letting her feet guide her. Joral followed, reluctantly at first. She heard him mutter something and then he was half a step behind her, matching his stride to hers.

The sweet melody reached a fever pitch just outside of one of the densest thickets of brush that they had seen yet. The sound was almost deafeningly loud and it echoed down Illista's spine and settled all of its weight on her bloodstone, weighing the amulet down around her neck like pewter.

“Here. Help me look. It must be here.” She shoved her way into the grasses and the darkness. Here it was darker than even the rest of the plains. Here, the tops of the branches were broader, shadier. Here, everything seemed so far away. Illista nearly lost herself in the music.

“What am I looking for?” Joral swept branches out of her way, reaching his long arms up and over her head to clear a path.

Illista dropped to her knees. The ground below her seemed to be harder here, the grass roots exposed on top of bare rock. “There has to be an opening. Can't you hear it?”

Joral knelt beside her. “Hear what, Illista?”

She glanced at him, startled. The water music was so loud she had forgotten that it did not sing to other people. “There is a cave or something nearby. With water in it. We are directly above it, I know it.”

He held her gaze, his green eyes probing hers, testing her. He cocked his head to one side, listening. When recognition lit his eyes, her heart leapt.

“I can hear something,” he whispered.

“Singing?”

“No, roaring. Like a waterfall.” And not far away, they heard voices.

Then he was on all fours, digging through the brush and weeds with Illista. She kicked at clods of dirt with her blistered toes and yanked at roots and found nothing. With a shudder, she sat back, breathing heavily with scrapes burning on her hands, her wrists, her face.

Joral had moved a few feet away from her and continued to search the ground methodically. The assassins were getting closer. Surely all the ruckus in the weeds would catch their attention and she and Joral would be at their mercy. An icy shiver of fear shot through her belly at the thought, and she crawled forward double-time, fingers clawing the dirt as though she could dig her way to freedom.

And then one hand slipped through the tangle of roots and stems and her entire arm disappeared down to her shoulder. She gasped and tried to free herself. Inside the hole, her hand was surrounded by rope-like roots, twisting and tangling around her skin.

Joral was at her side in an instant, pulling her gently back to solid ground. She rubbed her angered skin while he picked up a fallen grass stem nearly as thick as her wrist. Without a word, he broke it over one knee forming a dagger-like point. The inside of the woody stem was hollow, and the point formed a narrow spade. He plunged it into the hole where her arm had disappeared and dug around. He withdrew his digging stick and hacked downward several more times, removing tangles of brush with each stroke and discarding it to one side.

With the last stab, a tangle of stems slipped down and in, swallowed by the earth. From below her, Illista heard the interruption in the song as the branches hit the water and were carried away by the unseen river.

“I think we found your cave. I will go down to see what is there.”

She grabbed his arm. “No, I will go first. These eyes see better in the darkness than yours, I think.”

She reached out to the water with her mind and warned it of her approach. It gurgled happily. Joral clasped her by the elbow and she wrapped her hand around his. Carefully, she dipped one toe into the thinned brush over the cave entrance.

A bark of human laughter rang out through the grass. The sound seemed to be all around them. She and Joral exchanged silent agreement. Careful. Silent. He held her gaze as she bent her knee and let her first leg slip down into the unknown below.

***

Joral clasped Illista's arm as though he were the one dangling over a precipice and watched as her lower half disappeared into the thick vegetation. He lowered her until all he could see was her round face and the tops of her shoulders. Her eyes, the most expressive part of her face in this form, glinted with an almost ecstatic glow. With a nod from her, he continued to lower her down.

She closed her eyes and her mouth as her face disappeared down into the cave and soon Joral was flat on his belly, half of his arm following her down, his hand still firm around her wrist. Her motion jerked to a halt and she tugged at him twice and released his wrist.

She must have found the bottom. Reluctantly, he released his own fingers from her elbow and her arm slipped downward until their fingers met.

Below the surface of the earth, she linked her fingers through his, and then covered them with her other hand. She pulled again, gentle tugs that urged him downwards.

On foot, alone, he had a chance of outrunning any assassin who chased him. At hand-to-hand combat, he could hold his own against the best swordsman. Illista was safe here in her hole, protected from detection. Alone, he might catch the rest of the Segra camp.

They needed him. Without him, the fragile peace with the Xan Segra was shattered. Without him, the Ken Segra were headed for war. With him, the united Xan and Ken Segra tribes stood a chance against Zabewa's army. With him, the Southern Lords would have an early warning. Without him, Illista would be lost. Left behind. Abandoned, once again, by those who were bigger and stronger than she ever would be.

Without Illista, he would be dead, poisoned and drowned at the edge of the holy lake.

He released her fingers and turned to shimmy down the hole. He gripped the roots like ropes and lowered himself hand over hand until his feet hit the ground below. The darkness was not quite absolute. Ribbons of light pierced the space like arrow shafts from above, illuminating tiny pinpoints of his tunic, his hair, the ground around him. Like a thousand tiny stars.

After a moment, his eyes adjusted somewhat and he could make out the contours of Illista's Waki face. The roar of water was much louder here, echoing off the walls of what felt like a cave with its cool stone walls.

“There is a river not far. Through the tunnel. This way.”

He stopped her before she could take her second step. “Where are you going?”

“I think we should follow the water.”

“But where would it take us?” He blinked into the darkness, trying to imagine which direction he was facing. After the race through the grass, he had mostly lost track of the sun, and there was nothing here he could use to orient himself. He spun in a slow circle and fought a rising sense of panic.

“I think we should move away from the entrance, in case Mulavi's men find it too. The water will lead.”

Joral laughed nervously. “I don't know that I trust water. I would rather have a map. Or at least a torch.”

“Trust
me
, then, Joral. Please.”

“Who are you, Illista? What are you? Mulavi calls you a witch.”

She drew back and he instantly regretted the sharpness of his words. “And if I am all that he claims? What then? Would you turn me over to him?”

Joral gulped. He had seen the malicious glee in the mercenary's eyes, the hungry glint of his smile, the derisive tone he had used with the Chieftess. His mother did not trust the man, nor did she trust the so-called King Zabewa that Mulavi claimed to serve. “No. I wouldn't give that man a rabid wolf. You have saved my life once already, and I am in your debt. I trust you, Illista.”

Her fingers found his. Long, slender fingers. Human fingers with a cord wrapped around the palm. She had removed her amulet again.

She began to walk, slowly but steadily. Joral followed, his fingers laced through hers. At first he shuffled his feet along the ground, not sure what his toes would encounter. The floor seemed to be smooth and dry and hard, like a cave of rock. They left the sprinkling of light behind them and forged ahead into blackness.

After a few feet he began to relax a bit and to pick his feet up as he walked, but his steps were still short to match Illista's.

“Can you see anything?” he asked.

“As a Waki I could see a little. But like this I can hear the water better. We are nearly to the shore.”

The shore of what?
Joral took stock of his other senses. He reached his free hand out to the side and then up, trying to feel for the ceiling of the cave. The entrance with the roots was small, but here there was nothing and the ground seemed to be sloping gently downward in front of him.

It was cool and the air was growing damper. He could smell dirt and the vague spices that clung to Illista's skirts. And something else. Water. A large amount of water. And the roaring was getting louder with each step.

Illista halted and Joral stopped next to her.

“Careful, place your hand on the wall here and stay close to the edge. I don't know if the path is wide enough for us to walk side by side.” She moved one of his hands to the clammy cold wall of rock and the other to her shoulder. Tendrils of soft hair fell softly over his fingers above the rough cloth of her dress. The open edge of the garment's neckline teased at him with her smooth flesh beneath.

They walked silently together through the dark underground cave. Joral was completely dependent on her for his survival. Without her, he wasn't sure he could even find his way back to the hole. His world consisted of the ground beneath his feet, the rock at his fingertips, and the changeling in front of him.

Illista led Joral through the underground river, through the deep dark, through the belly of the earth. Her chest swelled with joy at the singing of the rushing river that flowed not far from her feet. The energy of the rushing water was exhilarating and overpowering at the same time so that she wished to both dive in headlong and to retreat to the quiet dryness of the surface again.

The sound was like a thousand-thousand tiny voices clamoring for her attention at the same time. Each droplet wanted to tell her a secret, to play, to dance, to sing. To swim.

Secret
, she whispered back with her heart.
Tell me your secret.

The river lacked the words to describe it.
Show you,
whispered innumerable voices.

So they walked. The water edged closer to their feet as they went, and the two humans edged closer to the cave wall. And then there was no more dry edge, just a slickness that slowed their pace as they kept from slipping into the water. After a few more minutes, she and Joral sloshed through an inch or more of cold black water. It tickled her feet and cheered at each of her steps, and part of Illista wanted to cheer along with it. To swim along with it.