wizard’s body did not scrape against the sides. Because worrying that the monster was coming back would only take more energy, I decided not to think about it at all. But I could proceed only at what felt like a snail’s pace, having to concentrate on my magic, and constantly distracted, in spite of my resolve, by seeing the confrontation between monster and wizard repeated in my mind.
I wondered vaguely what time it was in the outside world. It must be at least the morning after we had entered the cave, maybe the afternoon, maybe even night again.
At the first intersection where the passage forked, I propped the wizard’s body against the wall for a moment while I said the quick words of the Hidden Language to light up my magic marks. They glowed an encouraging blue, showing me that the way back lay in the direction from which I was already sure we had come. Feeling somewhat heartened, I reapplied the lifting spell and kept walking.
But soon I had to stop again, to work the spell to keep sleep at bay. My muscles found new strength as I lifted the wizard’s body again, even though I knew my head would soon start aching. And the spell against headache would allow exhaustion again to claim me.
As I walked I seemed to see again and again the old wizard reaching out to touch his creature’s hand, and then slumping to the floor. I tried to decide what I should have done differently. Usually I had no trouble, after the fact, in finding my mistakes, but they did not seem as obvious this time. Certainly, I thought, there was something I could have done, even if I had to bind him against his will and carry him away by force.
But even that would not have worked. I might be Royal Wizard of Yurt, but my predecessor’s magic had been substantially stronger than mine, right until the very end.
This thought did not make me feel any less responsible. I tasted salt and realized I had been weeping as I walked, large silent tears flowing unchecked and almost unnoticed down my cheeks.
Suddenly I stopped, lowered the old wizard’s stiffening body as carefully as if I might still hurt him, and increased the intensity of the light. I did not recall having passed any of my magic marks recently.
There was nothing about the stone walls and rough floor of the passage to make it either familiar or unfamiliar. I tried the words of the Hidden Language to show my marks, but saw nothing in either direction, in the short distance before the passage curved out of sight. Could I with my attention distracted have walked right by a turning?
It seemed as though we should have reached one of the very narrow parts of the cave by now, and I knew we had not. On the other hand, it was almost impossible to judge distances, especially since I was now proceeding so much more slowly than we had coming in. Should I turn around and go back until I found one of my marks again?
But if I were still headed correctly, backtracking would only waste time and energy. And there would not be any magic marks anyway in a section of the passage like this, where no side tunnels branched away.
I lifted the old wizard again, and determinedly started forward, then stopped, suddenly unsure if I might now be heading in the direction from which I had just come. The gravel showed no footprints, and there were no landmarks to give direction.
I would have suggested the Devil could take the direction, but I did not want this thought to be construed literally. I tried a prayer instead, with little hope for an answer. But one direction now looked right, so I walked that way as quickly as I could.
Within a hundred yards I came to an intersection, where three passages came together, all equally broad. Stalactites, colored the palest green in the magic light from the staff, hung from the roof. I was quite sure I had not seen them before, and there were no magic marks here.
“Then I did miss my way while worrying what I could have done differently,” I said aloud, and started back again. This time at least I recognized the short straight stretch of tunnel where I had stood and hesitated.
The way back was longer, but in ten minutes the magic glow of the staff showed an intersection before me. Here, I thought, was where I had gone wrong before.
But there were no magic marks here either to show the way.
I put the wizard’s body down and rubbed my pounding head, trying to think. If I had come through this intersection without noticing, then I only had to choose the passage which was most likely to have brought me here, and continue following it back. But suppose I chose wrong? And suppose I really had gotten turned around when I stopped, and the three-way intersection where I turned back was where I should be now?
I had no answers, only the need to get out of the cave. I put a new magic mark on the wall, lifted the wizard’s body, chose the passage that seemed to lead upward rather than downward, and began to walk again.
After a while, it was hard to remind myself to put magic marks on all the intersections I passed. I knew I was lost, hopelessly lost, perhaps lost forever, but going back seemed no better, for that would have been to descend again into the stone heart of the earth. I had again grown thirsty, but returning to the river would have meant going down rather than climbing. My only decision at each intersection, whether the tunnels were wide or narrow, twisting or straight, so low I had to bend or so high that the light from the silver ball did not reach the ceiling, was to take the passage that seemed more to lead upwards.
Even when the angle of the floors seemed exactly the same, I did not hesitate. My head now hurt too much for any thought beyond keeping my spells going, but at every intersection I decided as rapidly as if someone else were deciding for me, and I had only to obey.
And then, just when my mind was beginning to feel as closed and dark as the cave tunnels, a breath of air touched my forehead. I stopped dead, not daring to believe, but it was no illusion. Somewhere, not far away, was the outside world.
I staggered onward almost at a run. The air was growing fresher and fresher, a mixture of the real smells of trees and grass, not the cold absence of anything but damp which had for so long surrounded me.
And then I heard a voice. I stopped again, wondering wildly if it might be the spirit of the old wizard, and if I should answer him, for the voice was calling my name.
But it was not the old wizard’s voice. It sounded like a woman. “Upward, Daimbert,” it called. “Look upward.”
I raised the staff and looked above me. In the ceiling of the tunnel was a crack, just wide enough for a person, which I never would have noticed if the voice had not stopped me. But it was from this crack that the fresh air was blowing.
I took a deep breath, then another, to get that air into my lungs and gather the extra strength I needed. I flew slowly upward, squeezing through the crack and dragging the old wizard’s body after me. I was now in a split as though the earth had shifted, and as I rose I looked around feverishly, but there was still no light. If the earth shifted again, I would be crushed so thoroughly that I would not even have time to realize what had happened.
My head bumped on stone, and I raised a trembling arm to aim the staff’s light. I saw that I had reached the top of the crack in the stone, but a short tunnel now led horizontally before me.
I pushed into it, forced my feet along it for ten yards, then stopped again.
But this time I had stopped with joy, for before me was a sky hung with stars.
The relief was so great I could have sobbed. I realized now, as I stood with the wind in my face, that it had been the wood nymph calling me. “Lady!” I said softly, but she did not reply.
Off toward the east, the dim beginnings of dawn faded out the stars, but to the west they still shone bright. Below the sky lay the valley of Saint Eusebius, partially shrouded in mist. To eyes that had strained to see in the complete blackness of the cave, the darkness of land under an open night-time sky did not seem dark at all.
After a moment, I determined I was looking out of a crack perhaps thirty yards up in the wall of the limestone valley. A few gnarled trees clung to the slope below me. I had been in the valley long enough that I quickly recognized the different limestone formations, even if it all looked slightly different seen from above. I was near the head of the valley, no more than half a mile from the Holy Grove.
I gathered the last of my strength, which wasn’t a lot, put the old wizard’s body over my shoulder, and pushed myself out into open air. Very slowly, falling gently as I flew, I proceeded in the direction of the apprentices’ huts.
I must have been in the cave for well over twenty-four hours. The priests would have finished their business
