Gateway to Fourline (The Fourline Trilogy Book 1) (17 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The pit was a gaping mouth that grew wider in dimension as Nat and Blanken approached. It seemed to be sucking in the last of the twilight. Blanken led her around the edge and handed her a flaming torch. He pointed to a small wooden platform with ropes and a pulley hanging near the lip.

“Mind your head when you go down. I’ll do my best to keep you steady, but the platform sways a bit.” He grasped the edge to hold it still. She eyed the rusty pulley and ropes when she walked onto the middle of the platform. It dropped a foot, then descended rapidly. Blanken grasped the rope and slowed its descent. With nothing to hold on to, Nat sat on her heels, but the flames from her torch licked the rope. She scrambled to stand before the rope caught fire.

“You’ll meet a pit guard about halfway down. Pull on the rope when you’re ready to come up,” Blanken called out from above.

“How about now,” she said to herself.

“What?”

“Nothing, let me down.” The platform descended. The torch flame cast shadows against the rocky walls. Switchbacks were cut into the side of the pit. Flaming torches broke the darkness at every turn. A crude series of pulleys and platforms extended throughout the cavern, beginning and ending at different levels. Other than the flames, there was no movement or sign of life.

She inched closer to the edge of the platform, hoping to glimpse the bottom of the pit, but the platform began to sway. She didn’t dare move again for fear she would send it swinging into the wall. She calmed her nerves by looking at the bright crystals and milky-looking stratum in the rocks as she descended. When the platform landed on a wide rock ledge, she quickly stepped off and peeked over the precipice.

The sharp point of a dagger dug into Nat’s cheek, and an arm slithered tightly around her neck. Nat froze. The hand holding the dagger moved from her cheek to her arm. A thin hand yanked Nat’s sleeve up to her elbow.

“That’s pathetic,” a hoarse voice said. The arm released Nat and she fell to the ground, clutching her throat. “You have that on your arm, and you froze like a little rabbit before the eagle swoops in for lunch.” Nat watched in alarm as the emaciated woman in front of her gobbled an imaginary feast. The woman’s red dreadlocks swung wildly from side to side with each erratic bite.

“No wonder Sisters are dropping like flies,” the woman said as she smoothed a handful of greasy locks behind her ear. Her ragged split sleeves fell away, revealing dull green markings of vines and swords on her arm. “This used to mean something!” she shouted, pointing to them. Nat scooted to the side, closer to her fallen torch. “Uh-uh.” The woman wagged a bony finger in warning. “Try and attack me,” she challenged and thrust her face in front of Nat’s. She smelled like a dead animal. Nat coughed. A flaming scar ran from the woman’s temple down the left side of her face.

“I’m not here to attack you,” Nat said, struggling to speak through her coughing. The woman reeked. “We’re both Sisters.”

The woman immediately sat back on her heels and folded her arms. “All my Sisters are dead,” she said flatly. She turned onto her knees and crawled slowly toward an opening in the cavern wall. Nat let out a long breath and stood up. She shook uncontrollably. The woman’s lingering rank smell was the last straw for her frayed nerves. Her stomach flipped and she retched off the side of the cliff. Wiping her mouth, she looked at the platform and shook her head, knowing if she went up now without the riven, Benedict would send her right back down. She turned and followed the woman.

Little pockets of light dotted the dark tunnel. Nat examined one of them and found a small orb about a quarter the size of hers.

“They shrink, you know. When a Sister dies, her orb shrinks.” The woman appeared at her side.

Nat’s shoulders tensed. “I didn’t know,” she said, trying not to let the woman see her shake. “Why is it still shining if its owner is dead?” Barba had taught her little about orbs.

“Good question, my little apprentice.” Her arm slid through Nat’s. The torn sleeve of her tunic caught on Nat’s belt. A spider sped up a tangled clump of the woman’s hair. She led Nat farther into the dim tunnel. “When you are with a Sister and she—well, when she is in the throes of death, she may bestow her orb upon you. It’s like giving a memory. And the memory is the light.” Her voice was calm as they paused before a crevice containing two more small orbs. “I have lots of memories.” The woman gave Nat a knowing smile, complete with missing teeth. Nat smiled in return, and the woman’s dark eyes bore into her. “What are you smiling for, you fool? They’re dead!” She gripped Nat’s arm like a vise and gestured to the orbs.

“S-sorry. I didn’t mean . . . Gennes sent me down here to collect some riven,” Nat said, stuttering with nerves.

“Gennes? Has Sisters doing all his dirty work now, does he?” The woman released Nat’s arm, and Nat took a defensive step back. The woman stared at the rough ceiling of the tunnel and rubbed her chin. “Been a while since I was above ground. Maybe you can switch with me? I’ll take Gennes the riven and you can guard the rubbish.” She winked at Nat and spun around. “Rubbish! Wake up, my sweet little murdering rubbish!” she bellowed as she stormed from the tunnel into a small room carved out of the rock. “We have a special visitor with a special job for you!” Nat scanned the cavern. No one else was in the dismal place. A heap of worn blankets surrounded by stacks of aging books lay across from the entrance. A beaten cup and shallow bowl teetered on the edge of a tiny table. The woman continued to yell. All at once, she stopped and faced the opposite wall. “Did you finally die?” She spat a black glob on the floor in front of a barred door set into the rock. A slight shuffling sound came from behind the door. Nat heard a coughing fit, then a male voice.

“Cassandra, you’ve been ingesting the mercury again, haven’t you?”

Cassandra jangled a set of keys in front of a wide lock and said in a reasonable voice, “Rusrel, I’m going to let you out. You are going to dig up a little riven for me.” She flung her head to the side to face Nat. “How much do you need?”

Not knowing what to say, Nat cupped her hands together.

“You will bring back that much.” Cassandra thrust her hand with the key toward Nat. “And then I’ll lock you up again. Any questions? No?” She jammed the key into the lock and bent toward the iron door. “Just remember, Rusrel, I am always looking for an opportunity to kill you,” she said cheerfully as she turned the key. The lock clicked and the door squeaked open.

Rusrel’s gangly legs unfolded like a crawling spider. Two arms crusted over with scabs and sores appeared next. Nat covered her nose as a foul stench rolled over her. She swallowed her vomit.

Cassandra rocked back and forth on her toes with eyes locked on the opening. “It’s been ages since I let him out,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper to Nat.

When Rusrel emerged from his cell, all Nat could think of were pictures she’d seen of concentration-camp victims. The filthy sleeveless tunic swallowed his sunken chest. The remaining bits of stringy hair matted to his head were interspersed with weeping sores. He shuffled on stick-like legs toward the tunnel entrance. Nat pressed against the wall as he moved past her and gave her a black smile.

“Your orbs are getting smaller, Cassandra.” His voice was weak but spiteful. He turned his head and grinned again.

Cassandra halted and fidgeted with the hem of her tattered tunic. She then quickly kicked Rusrel, who crumpled to the ground. She jumped on top of him.

“Stop!” Nat yelled. “We need the riven.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say to keep Cassandra from pummeling his face into the ground. “We need him to get the riven,” she repeated.

“Yes, we do.” The fire vanished from Cassandra’s eyes. She pulled Rusrel to his feet and pushed him toward the opening. Nat leaned against the tunnel wall, catching her breath. “Coming?” Cassandra called from the entrance.

Nat swallowed again and forced her legs to move. She emerged from the mouth of the tunnel just as Rusrel disappeared over the ledge on a long knotted rope. Cassandra crouched near the ground where the rope was staked. It shifted from side to side, pressing against the stone.

“Who is he?” Nat asked as she sat down next to her.

“Him?” Cassandra pointed at the rope, then leveled her eyes on Nat. “Rusrel,” she said slowly, “is the killer of the queen.” She leaned precariously close to the edge. “A little farther, you murdering scum!” she screamed. Her voice echoed through the pit. Nat listened to the stream of curses as she yelled at Rusrel.
This woman is insane,
she thought. She couldn’t believe Benedict had sent her down here without warning. Cassandra’s voice died away, and the only sound was the rope rubbing against the ledge. The rope grew slack and she loosened her grip.

“Where are you from?” Cassandra asked as her eyes darted to Nat, then back over the ledge.

“Far away,” Nat replied cautiously.

“Do you remember what your House was like?” Cassandra asked.

“Yes. Do you remember where you’re from?” She regretted the question the moment it slipped from her lips. Cassandra shuddered but remained silent.

After a few minutes a weak voice called out from the depths. Cassandra stuck her hand under the rope. “Help me pull him. The offal’s too weak to climb up on his own.” She heaved a meter of rope up and Nat grabbed the slack. The two women pulled hand over hand until Rusrel’s head and shoulders appeared. Cassandra hooked her arm under his armpit and yanked him up. A little silver bucket rolled onto the ledge, spilling purple-tinted crystals.

“Don’t tell me we’ve wasted our time here, Rusrel!” Cassandra pushed the crystals with her bare toe.

“It’s in the bottom of the bucket, Cassandra.” Rusrel lay on his back, chest heaving. “Would you look at the sky,” he said to himself while she examined the contents of the bucket. She twisted around and glared at him.

Nat grasped the bucket’s handle. “I’ll go now,” she said. Cassandra took no notice. Nat stepped onto the platform and pulled on the rope to signal Blanken.

“So dark, so thick and dark,” Rusrel said, still looking at the night sky. He closed his eyes. “Just like her hair.”

Cassandra’s left eye twitched slightly. The platform rose slowly above the ledge. Nat clutched the bucket with one hand and the rope with the other.

“She was so beautiful.” Rusrel’s voice grew stronger. Cassandra loomed over him. The top of her head disappeared from view as Nat rose higher and higher. For a moment, the only sound was the creak of the pulley. Nat shut her eyes and clung to the rope as a piercing wail erupted from below.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

It wasn’t Soris’ fault, but that didn’t matter. He asked another question from astride his horse, and Nat ignored him, again. She didn’t want to talk to him, not with Rusrel’s scream and Benedict’s bitter laugh still echoing in her head.

Soris lifted his wet glove and brushed drops of rain from his cheek. He winced slightly, and Nat wondered how badly Benedict had hurt him with the porc needles.

“You’ve known Benedict awhile, then?” he repeated.

Nat sighed and brushed rivulets of rain off her horse’s long neck. Water splattered against her face when the horse flicked its head to the side. “No.”

“When you came back from the pit last night, you lit into him like you knew him well enough. Can’t say I’ve ever seen a Sister do that before.”

“What, get angry? Can’t Sisters get angry, especially when someone lies to them and tricks them?” she said more defensively than she meant. She didn’t want him to think she was irrational.

Soris looked through the rain and down the muddy road. “Yes, of course they can. You’re just different. Most Sisters I’ve met are pretty controlled.” He glanced back. She was hunched over the saddle horn, wet cloak plastered to her back.

“I must’ve been trained differently than the ones you knew,” she said, thinking of Andris’ constant criticism and berating, Barba’s and Estos’ nonstop torrent of information, and the concoctions Ethet made her drink.

“It makes no difference to me how you were trained, Sister.” He shrugged. Black clouds rolled above the valley, blotting out the remaining light. “We need to find cover.” He pointed to the clouds. Droplets of water hit his face. The clouds spun and rolled through the sky. She nodded and urged her horse to follow his off the road onto an overgrown path.

The rain fell harder. Their horses raced over the slippery grass. Clumps of mud splattered against Nat’s arms as she trailed Soris. The wind ripped the hood off her head. They rounded the base of a low hill. The crumbling remains of a stone wall stood amidst tall grass and weeds. The gray stone was slick with rain. On the other side of the wall, lonely columns stretched to the sky. She slowed her horse and examined the ruins.
Another House,
she thought and wondered which one.

“This way!” Soris called from ahead, gesturing to a grassy path under a stretch of trees. They made their way under the leafy canopy until they reached a large meadow. Nat pulled on the reins and looked up in awe. Branches and tendrils stretched across the sky, forming a verdant cover over the open meadow. Shafts of gray light and streams of rain penetrated the cover, but the meadow was peaceful compared to the storm raging beyond. Nat urged her horse on. Tattered old ropes hung from the canopy, their frayed ends swaying eerily in the wind. She passed a jagged wooden post just as Soris skirted the edge of the meadow and disappeared behind a long building opposite Nat.

The first level of the building was made of the same gray stone as the wall. The second level was a covered deck looking out on the meadow. Thick wooden posts supported the roof. As she drew near, she noticed each post was carved from bottom to top with images of the vine, sword, bird, and sun. The middle post was covered with carvings of weapons, swords, spears, and arrows. The building, she discovered, was anything but intact. The side wall was partially caved in, exposing a dark interior through an opening big enough for Nat and her horse to pass through. They entered a long room segmented by three wooden stairways in various stages of rot. Soris reappeared from behind the second stairway. Nat dismounted, took the reins, and gently pulled her horse forward while kicking rocks out of the way.

“I hope you won’t take offense that we’re using this as a stable, Sister.” He unhooked a saddlebag and dropped it on the floor. A mouse scampered from under the leather.

“I don’t mind,” Nat said. She unbuckled the strap holding her bag.

“Cassandra would’ve—” He paused a moment. “She would’ve had a problem coming here. But I figured you’d be fine, given it wasn’t your House and we didn’t have any other available options.”

Nat studied Soris. Why did he bring that crazy Sister into the conversation?

He glanced at her nervously and busied himself removing the saddle. He sat the saddle on its end and began wiping down his horse. “I didn’t think it was right what Benedict did, Sister. Sending you down into the pit.” He spoke more to his horse than Nat. “I’ve heard she has walls of orbs. Benedict shouldn’t have done that to you.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly. The kindness and concern in his voice struck her. She slid her saddle off her horse and stood it upright in a dry, rubble-free corner by the stairs. She watched Soris as he worked on his horse, rubbing its limbs. His wet hair lay at a funny angle against his forehead.

“I wasn’t mad at Benedict because of the orbs,” she said as she approached her horse. “Benedict was trying to get back at me for something by sending me down there.”

“Get back at you for doing what? Bringing him to Gennes? Protecting him? Gennes said he had to fend you off when he threatened Benedict.” Soris picked up a scattered array of broken branches with his good hand and tossed them into a pile.

“It’s complicated.” She pulled the thick saddle blanket off her horse and shook it. Puffs of horsehair filled the air.

“Benedict and my brother planned our mission. If you have a problem with Benedict, I should know about it.” Soris stood directly across from her, arms crossed. His expression was agitated, and he looked like a younger version of Andris.

“It’s nothing to do with the mission. We don’t agree on how to treat a . . . duozi.” She hoped he’d let it rest at that, because she couldn’t very well explain how she knew he locked duozi children in cabinets.

“A duozi?” he replied, looking confused.

“Yep, a duozi.”
Did he not care for them as well?
she wondered and turned her back on him, ending the conversation. Soris waited a moment, shrugged, and moved to the far end of the building. A piece of broken tile lay on the floor next to a clump of thick grass that her horse was consuming. The tile threw off an opalescent color. Nat picked it up and examined its bulging surface in the gray light. The curved tile was a piece of broken orb. The tip pricked her finger and a small droplet of blood welled up. She sucked her finger and pocketed the piece. She looked around at the ruins and shuddered.

Soris kicked bits of rubble from the corner, then sprang lightly up a set of stairs. The wood creaked under his weight. He came bounding quickly down and jumped off the side instead of using the last few stairs. He shook his right hand and stuck it under his opposite arm.

“This should do for tonight. I doubt we’ll have company.” He nodded at the thick line of trees visible through the shattered window. Nat had the feeling he wasn’t talking about people. He pulled out a compact crossbow made of dark wood and set it next to his bedroll. His mouth tightened when he bumped his hand.

“How’s your hand?” She dropped her bedroll near his and pulled her orb from her robe. It began to emit a gentle glow and heat as it hovered near them.

Soris slid down to the ground and smiled wanly. “Starting to hurt a bit.”

She flicked a spider off her bedroll and knelt next to him. Carefully pulling his hand into her lap, she examined the two punctures. The wounds themselves were hardly visible. The skin around them, however, was a swollen red ridge covered by a weepy ooze. She considered using some of Ethet’s herbs to relieve the swelling but hesitated. The punctures had to look bad for Mudug to believe their lie. She handed him a water gourd. He took a sip and handed it back.

“He didn’t do anything other than puncture your hand?” she asked as she gently examined the palm.

Soris shook his head and winced. “Well, he outdid himself, didn’t he?”

She took a drink and gestured to the crossbow. “Are you planning on using that one-handed?”

Soris laughed. “Won’t need to with you around, at least not here. The Nala won’t bother us if they see that.” He pointed to the design on her arm. She choked as she swallowed another gulp of water. Soris lightly patted her back.

“I’m fine,” she coughed. She hoped he and Barba were right about the markings. She took another drink.

“The Nala are the least of our worries,” Soris continued. “It’s the guards in Rustbrook we need to think about. I’m leaving the bow here along with our clothes.”

“Our clothes?” She glanced at her tunic.

Soris smiled again. “Our real clothes. We’re bastle herders, remember?”

“Must have slipped my mind.” She corked the gourd and leaned against the rough wall.

“The guards in Rustbrook will paw through everything. We’re going to have a hard enough time hiding the suix stone, riven, and the sleeping tar Benedict gave you. If I walked into Rustbrook with that bow, or if they found your orb or cloak, we’d be finished before Mudug could spit in our direction. We’ll stash our things here and then come back afterward.”

Nat looked at the orb. Barba wouldn’t be happy with her leaving it. But she wasn’t very happy with Barba. She let out a rueful laugh.

“What’s funny?” Soris chewed a bit of jerky.

“I just promised my . . . my Head Sister something about my orb. She’d have my hide if she knew I was leaving it.”

“Doesn’t need to know, does she?” Soris said through a mouthful of meat.

“No, she doesn’t. She was less than upfront with me about a few things. This would be a minor payback in comparison.”

Soris chewed a little more, and Nat began to wonder what kind of meat he was eating. She examined the stringy jerky and took a small bite.

“Is my brother with your Head Sister?” Soris asked.

Nat chewed slowly and swallowed. She took another drink before answering. “He is,” she said, feeling the need to be vague.

“He really is well, then?”

Nat nodded. “Yes.” She looked closely at his face and messy blond hair. “You two aren’t much alike. Your brother’s got a pretty hard edge to him.”

Soris glanced at her and smiled. “He’s not so bad,” he said. “Just always felt like he had something to prove with Gennes and Gordon as his older brothers.”

“Gordon?” she asked before remembering Gennes’ comment about the remaining brothers.

His smile faded and his full lips pinched together. “Gordon was the oldest.”

“What was he like?”

“Calm. Nothing unnerved him. His men loved him. I guess that’s why Emilia took a liking to him.” He shrugged as if brushing off a sad memory. “We all looked up to him.”

Nat wanted to ask about Emilia, but a cloudy look settled over his face. “How about you?” she asked instead.

“What about me?”

“Did you feel like you had something to prove?”

“No, never,” he said honestly. “Now I just want my brothers back together, to have everything the way it was before all this happened.” He gestured to the ruins. The two chewed their food in silence. “Do you have any brothers?” he asked.

“No, I have two sisters. Both younger than me.” She broke off a clump of cheese and handed it to him.

“Fortunate family,” he said with a mouthful. “My mom and dad would have given a leg for a daughter. Instead they got four boys. My mom was always saying that she’d had one for each House, the only problem was we couldn’t get in.”

“Boys can’t study in the Houses? I mean, of course boys can’t study in the Houses.” Flustered by her slip, Nat jumped up and began to busy herself by preparing a fire with the sticks Soris had collected. When she had a small flame going, she sat back on her heels. “So, where did you and your brothers study?” she asked, keeping her head down and her eyes on the flame.

“Since the Rim Accord was between the Sisters and the Nala . . .” Soris paused, and Nat finally looked up. He was waiting for her to agree, so she nodded. “Our family did what all respectable families do with their boys. Gordon and Gennes lived with our dad in Rustbrook and trained. Andris and I stayed on the farm with my mom and learned how to run the business. My father and brothers would come back each spring for the plantings and in the fall for the harvest. Then they’d be on their way again.” The flame was full now, and Soris spread his wet cloak to dry on a large stone. Nat retrieved her cloak and did the same.

“I don’t see Andris as a farmer,” she said as she smoothed the cloak.

“Neither did he.” Soris laughed. “Hated every bit of it. He wanted to be with Gennes and Gordon.” He lowered his voice and squinted. “He always said, ‘It’s like being on a slow pony ride in the round pen. My arse always hurts and I’m getting nowhere.’”

Nat smiled at the impersonation. “Pretty good. You’ve got his growl down.” She stood and crossed her arms, her mouth set. “‘As I see it, you have two choices, Sister: do exactly what I say, or do exactly what I say. What’s it going to be?’”

“Any doubt I had about you knowing my brother just vanished,” Soris said, clapping.

“Your brother and I spent more time together than either of us wanted,” she said as she looked through the thick, splintered glass of the nearest window. “I know that he would give anything to be here instead of where he is.”

“He never was one for staying in one place or being patient. He was always getting me into trouble going on Nala hunts in the forest or preparing an ambush along the road to the farm. He drove my mom to the edge, which was no small feat. She was an Emissary Sister. I could never win an argument with her or get her goat. But Andris always could.”

Little puffs appeared as Nat exhaled. She studied Soris’ face as he stoked the fire. He looked lost in his memories. She wished she could share something about her life as openly as he’d just shared with her. She warmed her hands over the low flames before returning to her bedroll. “How did he end up in Estos’ guard?” she asked. She wanted to keep the focus on him, knowing vagaries and lies were all she could offer in return.

“He locked the foreman in the icehouse with the season’s butchering after Gordon and Gennes returned to Rustbrook. Mom handed him a bag with some rations and her training dagger and kissed him good-bye. I can still hear his whooping as he raced off down the road.”