went in.
They found themselves in a tunnel that turned sharply to their right. As it progressed it slanted, taking them gently but decisively deeper. When the path levelled, a few hundred paces on, it opened out and led into another chamber. This was large, but nowhere near as huge as the one above.
Everything here looked natural, unlike the unknown substance the maze was fashioned from. Stalagmites and stalactites bristled like serpents’ teeth, and there were stone hillocks and granite arches. Tunnel mouths riddled the cavern. In places, the rock resembled grey frozen waves, as though it had flowed before hardening. The air was fusty.
‘I wonder how far this all goes on for,’ Serrah said.
‘Could be miles,’ Caldason reckoned.
‘So how do we go about searching?’
He turned to Kutch. ‘What do your senses tell you now?’
‘The magic’s less oppressive, but it still feels like a blanket. Though…’
‘What?’
‘It seems a little weaker in that direction.’ He nodded.
‘All right. Come on that way.’
Serrah caught his arm. ‘Should we be going the way Kutch senses less magic?’
‘We’re going the way of difference. It’s all we’ve got at the moment.’
They fell in beside him and moved in the direction Kutch had indicated. Tramping the irregular floor, they were aware of the humidity and the unmoving air.
Then Caldason stopped and held up a hand. ‘Feel that?’
A cool draught blew gently from a nearby tunnel.
It caressed Serrah’s cheek. ‘So we go in there, right?’ She viewed the prospect sourly.
‘Yes, let’s keep following our hunches.’
‘I think you mean your hunches, Reeth.’
They entered the shaft. It was narrow and winding, and it reminded Serrah of why she shunned enclosed spaces. However, eventually it opened into yet another sizeable cavern, not unlike the last.
‘How many more?’ Kutch wondered.
Serrah shushed him.
There was a rushing noise. The light from their orbs threw back the glint of a subterranean river. At first they thought it was more quicksilver, but it proved to be water, and it was cold, despite the sultry atmosphere.
Serrah knelt on the bank and scooped a little with her palm. The taste was intensely brackish and she spat it out.
‘What did you expect,’ Caldason teased, ‘honeyed wine?’
She rose and looked about. ‘This is hopeless, Reeth. We could wander around down here forever.’
‘Perhaps we should be a bit more methodical about it,’ he conceded.
‘It’d make sense to have some kind of system. Maybe we could-’ A sound cut her short. Then she caught a movement on the edge of her vision. Something darted into one of the tunnel entrances.
Caldason saw it too. ‘Stay with Kutch!’ he yelled, racing off.
‘Like hell! Come on!’ She dashed after him, dragging the boy with her.
Caldason sped into the tunnel, with Serrah and Kutch pelting in close behind. They ran headlong, navigating twists and tunnel splits. Their giant shadows were grotesque against the craggy walls.
Serrah could hear Kutch breathing hard behind her. She saw Reeth’s back, some distance ahead, but he was drawing away. She was losing sight of him.
Caldason wasn’t sure what he was chasing. The figure was lithe, and moving fast. It obviously knew these tunnels well, judging by the fluidity with which it traversed them. He began to think it was going to get away.
No sooner had the thought occurred than the figure came to grief. It tripped, tumbled, fell. He put on a burst of speed, hoping to get there before it found its feet.
There was a collision. A tangle of limbs. He was struggling, fighting with something wild, feral. Something that scratched and spat with sharp teeth and raking nails. A mass of black hair.
He had hold of a girl. He thought it was a child at first, then realised she was a young woman. Slimly built, perhaps half-starved. And she had a knife. Its curved blade flashed. He caught her wrist and arrested its arc. Although her frame was slight, she was strong, but no match for him.
Further along the tunnel they’d been running down there was a stirring. Pinning the frenzied girl, Caldason looked up. Someone approached in shadow. A voice sounded. He couldn’t make out what was said, but the girl heeded. She let go of her knife and went limp.
Caldason hardly noticed. He could see the figure clearly now as it slowly approached, and was transfixed.
Serrah and Kutch arrived, panting. She had her sword drawn. He clutched his dagger.
‘What is it?’ she said. ‘Who…?’
Caldason wasn’t listening. He was staring at the new arrival.
He had no recollection of ever meeting him, but he knew him well. He’d seen him a thousand times before.
It was the old man who lived in his dreams.
24
An observer could have mistaken them for a tableau of wax mannequins.
Then Serrah said, ‘What the hell’s going on, Reeth? Who are these people?’
Caldason said nothing.
The old man took a hesitant step forward, a look of consternation on his face. ‘Reeth? Can it be?’
Caldason slowly rose, ignoring the girl he’d been pinning down. She scuttled away, scooping up her knife, and dashed to the old man. Blueberry-eyed and her hair bedraggled, she stood defiantly at his side, blade at the ready. She was scrawny and dirty, and dressed in brown rags.
The old man was no better outfitted, in tattered, rough-woven cloth. He was liver-spotted, and his beard was white. ‘Reeth?’ he repeated. ‘Is that really you?’
‘Don’t you recognise me?’ Caldason whispered, finding his voice at last.
The old man gently shed the girl’s protective arm and moved into the light.
His eyes were milky and disfigured, and unmistakably blind.
‘My gods,’ Kutch let out.
‘There are three of them,’ the girl explained, glaring at the outsiders. She addressed the old man exclusively, as though the others couldn’t hear or understand. Her voice had a surprising purity, despite its harsh tone.
‘Thank you,’ he responded. To the rest, he added, ‘You must excuse Wendah; it’s been a very long time since either of us knew company.’ He took another few paces until he stopped by Caldason’s outstretched hand. ‘May I?’ he asked. Taking the Qalochian’s silence as consent, he reached up and touched Caldason’s face, his fingers gently tracing its contours. ‘It is you. I thought…I feared you were dead.’ He threw his arms around him.
Awkward in the embrace, Caldason replied, ‘And I was never sure you actually existed.’
The old man backed off, his ruined eyes moist. ‘Being muddled about the past, not remembering, that’s only to be expected, given what you’ve been through.’
‘One thing I do seem to know is that you looked exactly the same. You haven’t aged a day. What are you doing here? And what happened to your sight?’
‘We have much to discuss, Reeth. There’s a great deal to be explained, and your friends, these people with you, they must be confused.’
‘You bet,’ Serrah assured him. ‘This particular friend wants to know what the hell you two are talking about. Starting with where do you and Reeth know each other from?’
‘From my dreams,’ Caldason told her.
‘Your what?’
Kutch and the girl looked no less taken aback.
