Dream of a Vast Blue Cavern

Chapter 18: A Vast Blue Cavern: Stasia

 The flame on the torch flickered dangerously, guttering on the edge of extinction. Stasia tried to will it to stay lit. She had never thought she would be praying to the Ancestors for fire. Another drop of water fell and it hissed madly. Stasia used a bit of her precious T’Jas to push the dripping water to the sides of the small cavity in the ice where she stood with Dynat. The water hardened back to ice beneath her feet as she traveled up the shaft, creating a floor that sealed her in completely. Surrounded by burial ice, Stasia could not simply tunnel her way out; she could not manipulate it, could not even draw T’Jas from it. Tiny veins of air running up and down the ice kept the cavity filled with oxygen, feeding their lungs and the flame. She would not suffocate, but if the flame went out, she would starve at the very least, if not be crushed by the resealing ice.

 Dynat held the torch aloft, and she thought it was sheer willpower that kept his arm up. He had not tried to fight her command; she thought he was uncertain of his own Warriors’ loyalty, as afraid of them as she was. Hours surrounded by ice had taken a toll, and her cold Icer's healing had not provided enough strength for him to combat the seeping cold. Even wrapped in his cloak, he looked worn and haggard. His lids drooped as if they might fall shut at any moment, and he winced every time the cold water splattered on his face or scalp. The outside of the cloak was soaked, and the hood was thrown back, frozen nearly stiff.

 Stasia felt no pity. Walking through the burial chamber past the heads of her sisters had torn her heart open again and left it raw. It had been all she could do not to claw his eyes out, back in the burial chamber, not to freeze the blood in his veins and watch him suffer a millionth of the pain he’d caused her.  No, there was no pity in her for him. But she did worry—if he went too cold and lost his power, then the torch would go out. She and the former Fire King would be drifting corpses for eternity.

 How long should she wait up here? Were the Flames patrolling the floor of the burial chamber even now? Stasia had pushed Dynat hard to get them high in the shaft, far above the copper-clad Ancestors. The red haired Lady had seemed to beckon Stasia onward. Beyond her, the garments of the corpses grew more and more ancient, accented with metals and gems that were only legends to the people of Iskalon. Their expressions and features were strange as well, and Stasia thought that these people had been in the ice for a longer period of time than she could comprehend. The bodies surrounding her now wore soft, light robes like the finest websilk. There was little chance that the Flames would look up and glimpse her and Dynat; unless they had an iceospectacle, they would think them only two more bodies. Stasia had left the crown of Iskalon further down, near the copper-clad Lady. The Flames might see that, but with luck it would appear just another relic to them.

 In retrospect, the Burial Shaft seemed a foolish place to hide. There was no way of knowing if it was safe to leave, and sooner or later she would have to take the risk. She should have merely tunneled into the rock wall of the cavern. The Flames would have felt that, though, and it would have taken longer than entering the ice. For something that Icers couldn't budge, burial ice was surprisingly responsive to fire. Why had the Ancestors made it thus?

 Frustrated, Stasia stared at the wall in front of her. She could see her reflection in the glowing ice. She looked pale and weary. Fear shone in her yellow-green eyes, and dark circles ringed them. A deep scar marred her once perfect forehead, and her long, silvery hair was shortened and patchy on one half of her head, where the lava river had burned it away. She wondered if Glace would still want to kiss her if he could see her now. Most likely he would be horrified. She thought of Larc’s gentle Icer healing soothing away all of her hurts, and almost broke into tears. Did they live? Medoc had promised to withdraw—but had he even won the throne, or did some other Flame hold the fate of her people in his hands?