Soulwoven

Chapter Twenty-Two

~22~

Litnig shifted from foot to foot as Dil worked around him. She collected their belts and used scraps of clothing to fashion a loop for his waist, then a makeshift harness that would help distribute the weight of the deadcarry over his shoulders and chest. She worked in a desperate, feverish crouch, her hands flying over leather and cloth, tying and untying and retying in the dim light. Cole watched balefully. Quay didn’t move. Ryse reclined on one of the packs and closed her eyes. Her face still gleamed with sweat.

Litnig wondered if Dil wasn’t throwing herself into the task so hard to avoid thinking about what had happened above, or what lay ahead.

If she was, he didn’t blame her.

The tunnel ahead was black as the pit of an aspmelon. They had only two torches and Ryse’s soulweaving to light their way. Litnig had no idea how long it would take them to get out, or if it was even possible.

And Quay’s words still echoed in his head. No one. We leave him behind.

He shivered.

When Dil finished the deadcarry, he put it on and stifled a grunt. The weight of Len’s body lay heavy on his shoulders and back. His head ached. His arm throbbed with deep pain that resonated all the way up through his teeth. He took a tentative first step, and his legs wobbled underneath him.

For a moment, he felt close to the edge of panic.

Quay brushed past him, torch in hand, and began to pick his way over the broken rocks.

“Steady,” the prince said as he passed.

Litnig’s panic slipped below the surface.

The tunnel floor was strewn with rocks and debris, and the deadcarry skipped and bounced unevenly behind Litnig as he and the others left the cliff and the fall behind. His muscles warmed to the walking. The rhythm of moving and carrying a heavy load calmed his heart. He let his mind wander.

When he did, it returned to Eldan.

Remember your forests, Len had said. Remember your skies. And Litnig did. He walked through the waving oceans of grass to the east of his city. He stood beneath the stark blue sky above it on a cold autumn day. The smell of fresh hay filled his nostrils. The white petals and dark leaves of herbs winked at his mind as they grew along the bottom of the city wall in spring.

The tunnel led gently downward, and the air grew stuffy and stale, but Litnig lost himself in the endless freedom of the plains, the wind in his face, the songs of birds overhead, the playful gambols of clouds tossing and tumbling in the high world above him.

He lost track of time. It was easy to do in the world beneath the mountains, where there was no sun and no moon to tell the turning of the hours. He walked until he or one of the others grew tired or hungry, and then he rested, or he ate and he drank, and then he got up and walked again.

Occasionally, the tunnel forked and Quay chose a path for them. The prince took them upward when it was possible and avoided any sounds or movement. Twisting and turning on the deadcarry behind Litnig, Len made little improvement, but he didn’t worsen either, and every once in a while Dil could get him to swallow a little water by rubbing his throat and pouring it into his mouth as he gulped in reaction.

Ryse, however, didn’t seem to be getting her strength back. She demurred when Quay asked her to work with either Litnig or Len. Her skin stayed pale. A sheen of sweat clung to her even when she slept. Every once in a while, she reached into the pocket that had held the treesoul and looked pained when her hand came out empty.