Waterborn

'This is an upper story,' she answered smugly. She indicated a stairway in the corner of the room, leading down. 'That's how we'll get down to the buried palace.'

'Right here?'

'No, this isn't the right place. At least, I don't think it is.' She took out her map and unfurled it in the lamplight.

'No,' she said. 'I've been counting side passages. We have to cross six more.'

'Did you count the one that was filled in?' Tsem asked.

'Yes.' Hezhi nodded.

They went on, counting six more tributary ducts. Their companion remained with them, gazing hollowly from the shadows.

'The next room, then,' she whispered. Her skin was beginning to tingle with a strange sort of exhilarating fear. A few more paces, and they passed into another upper-story room.

She located the stairway easily enough, splashing across the water standing on the floor.

'This is it,' she breathed.

'I will go first here,' Tsem stated. It was not a question.

'Good enough, Tsem,' she agreed.

The stair was slick, with a fine coating of mud, but unlike the rooms under the abandoned wing, it was clear of substantial debris. Water stood in the room, as well, but they discovered it to be only a few feet deep—to Tsem's knees and Hezhi's waist.

Even Tsem recognized the place, despite the outdated architecture.

'This is a shrine,' he muttered, taking in the thin, decorative columns, the inoperative fountain choked with stagnant water, the faded glyphs on the walls.

'Yes,' she confirmed. 'A First-Dynasty shrine. You see? That is the royal seal of the Chakunge.'

'The seal is much larger here. I've never seen it so prominent in the shrines above.'

'Back then the Chakunge was the First Priest, as well,' Hezhi explained.

'I thought he still was.'

She shook her head. 'Only symbolically. In the First Dynasty, there was no Priestfather. Everything flowed from the Chakunge. After the war of priests, the priesthood and the emperor became divided.'

'I've never heard of any 'war of priests,'' Tsem said.

'No. It isn't much talked about,' she told him.

'So now where to? I don't see any exits.'

Indeed, the exits from the room had been walled up, precisely similar to many of the chambers they had encountered a few years before.

'Oh,' Hezhi said. 'This won't get us where we are going. I needed to see this shrine to mark my place and to learn a bit more.'

'About what?'

'I think the glyphs in here may tell me some things I need to know.'

'Ah.'

'Here, let me have the lantern.' She took the light source over near the sacred pool and began studying the glyphs there.

'Tsem,' she said after a moment, 'go count the number of treads in the stairway for me.'

'What? Why, Princess?'

'It's important.'

Tsem sighed and began sloshing toward the stair. Hezhi took her opportunity, knowing she had to hurry before Tsem caught on. The lip of the sacred well was above the waterline; she set the lantern down on that and scrambled onto it herself. From there she was able to reach the narrow duct that once fed the pool. Heart pounding, she grasped the slippery lip of the tube and began pulling herself up. Her arms seemed absurdly weak— she had only managed to get her elbows inside the duct before Tsem cried out behind her.

'Princess!' he yelped, and she heard a great splashing as he slogged across the room toward her. She wriggled desperately, abdominal muscles clenched, heaving herself into the tube. Everything in it was slimy, offering no purchase. In one frantic heave she got inside up to her belly, braced her arms, and wriggled farther in. Strong fingers clutched at her foot. She kicked wildly, worming away from Tsem's grip and farther into the dark shaft.

'Princess,' Tsem repeated, the sound of his voice muffled by her body. The tube was narrow enough that she could not quite get to her knees, and so she effectively blocked it.

'I'm sorry, Tsem,' she called back, hoping he could hear. Her voice rang weirdly, right in her ears but also humming down the endless duct. 'I'm sorry, but you can't fit in here, and it's the only way. I knew you wouldn't let me go alone.'

'Nonsense,' she heard him say. 'But come back out here for the light.'

In response, she drew out the tiny oil lamp she had concealed in her bag. Calmly she checked the wick to make certain it was still soaked with oil. Resting on her elbows, she also drew out a small packet of four matches, sealed in waxed paper. She struck one match against another and lit the lamp.

'You knew about this,' Tsem howled, stamping about in the water. 'You planned it.'

'I had to, Tsem,' she called back.

'Princess, please,' Tsem begged.

'Wait for me, Tsem,' she said. 'I'll be back.' Holding the little lamp in front of her, she began to crawl with her elbows.

The shaft was not exactly dry, but it was at least not full of water, either. She was grateful, once again, for the clothing Tsem had acquired for her; her elbows hurt already but she could imagine how badly they would be scraped if they were bare. Too, she could comfort herself with the thought that the slime that now darkened almost every inch of her was not, for the most part, on her skin. She sighed as Tsem continued to yell after her. The tube had the unfortunate quality of conducting sound undiminished. In fact, she remembered reading of priests using the tubes to talk to one another, communicating between shrines without need of actually sending a messenger.

Though she fought the sensation, Hezhi quickly felt hemmed in. The realization that she could not rise up, even to a crouch, was accompanied by the overwhelming desire to do so. Her breath became rapid, and she tried to move along more quickly, as if racing with her lungs. Images of the tube being blocked at the other end kept coming into her mind. Then she would be forced to back out, something she was not certain was possible. She began to tremble. What was she doing? This was insane! The shaft was becoming smaller as she went along!

The air seemed bad, too, thick, and her lungs had no room to fill completely.

Hezhi was close—very close—to screaming when she finally saw the end of the duct. She scrambled toward it so frantically that she extinguished the lamp. She did not stop to relight it, but wriggled on and on, until at last her head emerged into a larger space. There she gasped, drawing deep, full breaths, trying to calm down. She relit the lamp with her last two matches.

She knew where she should be, but this was another instance of paper not preparing one for reality.

The ancient Grand Hall was still magnificent. Even with water standing deep on its floor, even with piles of rubble sloping down from the walls, it was awesome. The ceiling arched up, its roof unreachable by her tiny light. Thick, ornate pillars rose to help the buttresses in the corner support that vast midnight, strips of gold and lapis here and there glittering dully beneath coats of muck. The Chakunge's dais was a many-tiered pyramid, rising above the water, still impressive in ruin. At each corner of each step crested an alabaster wave, frozen forever in the act of curling back down to the River. The tube opened above the first step emerging from the unrippling real water that filled the cavern. Carefully, quietly, she lowered herself onto the dais. She took up her little lamp.

'I'm here, D'en,' she whispered. 'Where are you?'

Her voice trembled in the magnificent abyss.

XI

The Cursed