Dream of a Vast Blue Cavern

Chapter 1: Whispers of War: Stasia

Against her better judgment, Stasia journeyed deeper into enemy territory.

The tunnel linking Iskalon to Chraun spiraled like a staircase, sometimes oppressively narrow, sometimes so wide she became disoriented. Stasia could feel a faint gradient of heat wafting upwards. The distance to Chraun was not quite two hours by foot and she was closer to the enemy realm than she was to her home. She did not want to admit fear, even to herself, but the heat terrified her. It would drain her T'Jas, leave her sick, even unconscious, if it intensified.

At the last patch of cold, Stasia leaned against rough rock and Dreamed. Cool water from a ceiling spring slid down her back, but she barely noticed. She drew T'Jas from the cold, filling her reservoir of power. The water matted her long hair, and soaked through her websilk dress, chilling her skin. She saw the span of the tunnel, every crack and crevice, as if she held aloft the brightest icelight she could make. Everything she saw was a clear reflection of the Dream she'd woken from, roughly an hour past, overlaid on the reality of the tunnel, which was in truth pitch dark. Sometimes, she could trust this second sight. But if anything had changed, a rock shifting here, a worm crawling over the walls there, the Dream would be useless.

And now, entering Chraunian territory where the enemy Flames patrolled, it would be worse than useless. There had been no Flames in her Dream, and if one came down the tunnel now, she wouldn't see him. Stasia held her T'Jas close and ready, but let go of the Dream-sight. The imposing darkness of the tunnel snapped in front of her eyes.

The heat grew as she continued down the spiral, and Stasia's stomach protested with a churn of acid. She took a deep breath, and smelled the sulfur of the realm of Chraun. Then she saw what she had been dreading: torchlight, in the distance. The echoes of footsteps, a soft chime of metal against metal, growing nearer. A Flame approached. How long since she had passed a spur where she might hide? But the Flames often entered the spurs, looking for slink to hunt. She should turn now and run all the way back to Iskalon.

Instead of doing what was smart and safe, she Dreamed; the approaching light snapped off, and the Dream-sight revealed the tunnel walls again. High up the sheer rock face was a little alcove, large enough for her to curl into. She placed her hands on the rock; there were enough cracks in it to get purchase.

As she scaled the wall, Stasia felt the air grow warmer. The cold air settled on the tunnel floor, and the air in the middle of the tunnel was a blend, neither hot nor cold, but at the ceiling warm air had risen and filled the alcove.  The heat fascinated and repulsed her. Sometimes in the Dream, the heat did not hurt, but it was agony now. Another wave of nausea rolled over her, stronger, making her gag. She clenched her teeth and grasped the edge, pulling herself into the little cave, so that her whole body was surrounded by warm air. Her cold T'Jas began to trickle away. Pressure pounded in her head, and her heart was weak. I should have run, she chided herself. Now I will be trapped and helpless. Father is right. I need to think before I go recklessly following the Dream.

The Dream dissipated as her cold T'Jas ebbed to a memory. Torchlight blossomed in her view again, brightening as it rounded the bend. It hurt her eyes, and she squeezed them shut, relying on sound. The footfalls were swift and solitary. Something dragged over the ground behind them with the slightest scraping noise, like a soft and supple hide. The Flame would be large, at least twice Stasia's size; all Flames were much larger than Icers. He—or perhaps she, there was no way to know—moved lithely over the rough tunnel floor, footfalls surprisingly quiet. Stasia didn't breathe, didn't move.

The red glow on her eyelids faded along with the echo of footsteps. When both were gone completely, she opened her eyes, blinking, and forced herself out of the alcove. She let herself fall to the floor where cool air settled, and she lay there for several moments, drawing T'Jas from the cold rocks. The effects of the heat faded from her body; her stomach settled and her breathing became more even. The sensible thing to do would be to turn back. Another Flame, or a whole troop of them, could come around the corner any moment. The Spiral Tunnel was supposed to be neutral ground, but Stasia did not trust the Flames not to break that neutrality. After all, they raided the outer caves of Iskalon from time to time, taking human prisoners; what would stop them from taking a lone Icer captive? At best, if she met a Flame, they would fight, and while she did not fear a battle further up the tunnel, T'Jas was so precious here, and she without armor—she was sure to lose.