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.
And yet, the Dream compelled her onward, almost as if it had a will separate of hers. She had not yet reached its destination. Just a little farther, she decided. She stood and continued down the tunnel, toward the heat, stopping to explore every cave she passed.
When the cool air on her ankles sank completely into the rock and the air around her head became oppressively hot, she found what she sought. The opening was tiny, little more than a crack in the back of another tiny cave, the sort of place where deadly pitvipers lurked. Wide-winged flats skittered and made squeaks of protest as her hands disturbed them in her exploration. Sticky webs of giant spele spiders came away on her fingers. She pulled her body into the tight crevice.
The rocks were rough where her skin was bare, and her websilk dress caught on tiny outcroppings, which tore gaping holes in the delicate fabric. She tried to breathe through her nose, but couldn't get enough air; when she opened her mouth she inhaled debris, chewing grit between her teeth. The tunnel sloped upward, and the warm air settled behind, to her relief. The cold grew and she drew T'Jas from it. The tunnel narrowed even further, and she pushed against the walls with her hands and feet, propelling herself forward.
Again, a light appeared in the distance, but this was a soft purple glow. It grew brighter, until she could see it gleaming on the walls, and as though being birthed by the tunnel, she squeezed out into an immense cavern. She lay on the floor on her back, catching her breath. Icy cold air settled over her, calming her stomach and giving her strength. She drew T’Jas; the Dream-sight covered the cavern like a veil.
The Dream showed a vast blue ceiling spread out above her head, bluer than the purest lapis. At its apex shone a brilliant yellow light. Stasia lay on a floor soft like fur and the color of emeralds. More bits of color rose from the floor around her, ruby and opal and sapphire, fluttering as though blown by a giant, gentle breath. The warmth bled down onto her face, but it did not burn, it invigorated and gave her strength. The ground held her in a way no cavern floor ever had. The ceiling above seemed limitless, like she could float toward it forever and never touch it.
V’lturhst. That was what the Heritage called this place, and it was a legend; according to them, it did not exist. To speak of it was blasphemy. Queen Cataya , founder of Iskalon, had condemned it. But Stasia Dreamed of it nearly every time she slept, and she did not see how something so wonderful could be forbidden. Her father and sisters called it a foolish fancy, but Stasia knew better. Her Dreams were prophetic; in them she could see real occurrences, present and future, that she would not have known otherwise, so why would her Dream of V’lturhst be any different? She knew it was real, and she followed the Dream, searching for the real V’lturhst.
Stasia let the Dream-sight go, daring to believe that perhaps this time she had found it. But she saw only frosty rock walls, lit by a ceiling of glowing amethyst-colored ice in a shaft that went on to infinity. It glowed brighter than a normal icelight, infused with T'Jas left by the Ancestors thousands of years prior. Glinting metal specks peppered the purple-blue depths. It was just another Burial Shaft.
At least it was one she had never seen. There were many Burial Shafts closer to Iskalon, most of them above Lake Lentok, but she had never heard of one so close to Chraun. It must be very ancient indeed. Stasia was here; she might as well look at what she had found. She drew T'Jas deeply from the ice on the walls, weighed curiosity against a few distant moments of old age, and drifted upward until her nose pressed against the icy ceiling.
As she rose, what had appeared from a distance to be specks crystalized into people, corpses frozen in time, clothed in copper-scale garments. Iskalon had run out of copper centuries ago. There were a few antiques still made of the precious metal, but the people of Iskalon scarcely wore metal garments any more. This was an old burial chamber, abandoned hundreds, perhaps thousands of years prior, perhaps even before the first King of Chraun had left Iskalon and forged his kingdom. Curious in spite of her disappointment, Stasia peered forward, inspecting the closest figure. It was a woman, her pale skin so thin that dark veins showed through. Gleaming red hair framed closed eyes and a serene smile. The copper scales, each the size of Stasia's thumb, dangled over her voluptuous body, gathering in a cascade of smaller scales under her chin and flaring at her wrists and ankles.
A loud pounding sound came up the tunnel, followed by a yell. Stasia whipped around to face the entrance of the cave. Someone was coming. She drew more T'Jas from the cold air. She could not manipulate burial ice; only a corpse could penetrate it, so she dropped down to where ordinary ice coated the walls of the great cavern, and she drew it to her body and her websilk dress, coating herself in it. If a Flame attacked, she would be protected from the first blow. She descended further, determined to face what came bravely, and hovered above the entrance, waiting.
A four-legged creature nearly the same size as Stasia burst out of the tunnel and paced the cavern, sniffing the ground where she had lain. She relaxed and dropped down beside the slink, letting her ice coating disintegrate to powder ice and fall with her. The feline raised its head, looking at her with huge, dark, contemptuous eyes. Then it sat and began calmly washing its ears. Its dark fur blended into the rock, and shone blue-black in the light of the burial ice. It was covered with cavewebs, dust, and debris. No amount of bathing would ever rid the creature of its powerful musky smell. Stasia stared at the slink, anger and creeping sympathy battling within her.
“He's stuck, isn't he, Musche?”
The slink ignored her and began working vigorously on its tail, erasing all traces of the journey down the tunnel. Another yell came echoing up.
“Curse him, he'll draw the Flames with that racket,” Stasia muttered.
The slink released his tail and gave her a look that said she might want to do something about that. Stasia bared her teeth, then turned and placed her hands on either side of the tunnel. The faint blue vaerce covering her skin glowed brighter, but one of them, on the back of her hand by her littlest knuckle, winked out altogether as T'Jas use shortened her life. How much time would she lose? A month? More? It couldn’t be helped. She imagined herself trapped in the tight tunnel, unable to move back or forward. Even for someone accustomed to navigating dark tunnels, it was a horrid feeling. Besides, he would draw the Flames if he kept yelling.
She took a deep breath and released T'Jas into the rock. The tunnel shuddered, and the walls pressed apart, widening the passage. She managed the structure of the rock so that the tunnel walls became dense, rather than putting pressure on the rock beyond it. Stasia strained, sending T'Jas all the way down the tunnel. In spite of all the cold in the cave, she was pushing her power to its limit. Flesh, ice, and air were easy to manipulate; stone was stubborn, complex, and nearly impossible to budge. “Melt you, you’re supposed to save my life, not shorten it,” she muttered, but then she went silent, saving her breath.
When it was done, she stood back, gasping for air, and replenishing her cold. She glanced down and realized for the first time that she was as covered with debris as the slink, and gaping holes in her websilk dress exposed patches of pale skin beneath. Three vaerce had faded from the back of her hand, but she was too elated with adrenaline and T'Jas to care, and she had millions more. She was dripping cold sweat, and it mixed with the dust and muddied her dress and her skin. She started to tidy herself, then stopped, annoyed. If he saw her looking like this, it was his own fault for following her. She stood still at the entrance, eyes blazing like a Flame’s torch. Footsteps approached, echoing into the cave. Steel scraped against stone; the tunnel was wider, but still narrow enough for him to touch the sides.
Glace hunched in the entrance, his dark leather armor fading into the blackness of the tunnel, his face and weapons glowing purple in the burial ice. The mace at his side clinked against the battle-axe in his belt as he climbed down into the cave. No longer stooped, he towered over her, nearly seven feet tall. His sandy blonde hair was dull from dust and cavewebs. His blue eyes met hers for a second; then he looked at the ground, as if he was a nameless Palace Guard and she was just another task on his duty roster. His deference made her even angrier.
As he stood silently looking at the cavern floor, Stasia studied him, letting the silence compound. He was not just another Palace Guard. He was Captain of her ten guards, a human Warrior of great renown. Young Ladies flocked to the training square when he was practicing. Not Stasia. Well, not unless her friends dragged her along. His face, covered in battle scars, ruined the perfect beauty. He could have them healed; even Stasia would do it for him, but he refused. Something about mistakes, he’d mumbled when she asked him. He carried all of his weapons, all of the time, from the daggers in his boots to the two long-swords strapped across his back.
He was also the bane of Stasia's existence. She pursed her lips tightly, letting the anger she felt spark from her eyes. With his eyes glued to the floor, the effect was lost. Unable to bear his silent deference, she said, “Well. My jailer has arrived at last.”
That brought his gaze up, and the anger in his blue eyes matched hers. “Your father—”
“Has commanded this that and the other, and you are here to carry out his orders to the letter.” Stasia, satisfied at getting a reaction out of him, pushed further. “Do you intend to carry me back? Perhaps over your shoulder, like a sack of fungal fodder?”
Glace fingered his mace. Stasia wondered what went on in that big head of his. What kinds of thoughts did a man like Glace think? She had known, once. She had known him since she was six years old. They had been best of friends, co-conspirators, driving Stasia’s tutors mad with their antics. When Stasia was fourteen, she had begun to notice what drew the other Ladies to watch him at practice, but at that same time, Glace had been conscripted, sent away from her for more experience in the field, Father said. After four years, he had been returned to her side, but he was a different person. Distant and cold. Professional. He refused to call her by her name, and would not laugh and conspire with her as he once had.
“Your father sent me to summon you to council, Princess. There is an important meeting. Your presence is required.”
Stasia let her hands drop to her hips, satisfaction melting into anger again. Why did her father continue to demand that she attend the meetings? She had tried to participate, last year when she came of age and became an official citizen. But the meetings were all the same: long-winded old councilors droning on about taxes and rights to this or that cavern. It bored her right to sleep on more than one occasion. When the time came for the citizens to speak from the benches, her twelve sisters had plenty to say. Even if she’d wanted to speak, her voice would not be heard. Issues she cared about, like the treatment of the guildless, did not even come up. No, there was no reason for her to attend another Council. She puffed up her chest like a pitviper getting ready for a fight.
“Mother of a molebear! Important? As if anything those duffers have to say could be more important than this. Look what I've found, Glace!” She gestured at the ceiling, then drew T'Jas from the cold and lifted him gently in the air. Though he had been born into the Warrior Guild, Glace had a passion for history, and in his free time he spent hours in the older burial chambers near Iskalon, peering up the shafts through the thick glass lens of his shiny brass iceospectacle.
As she guessed, Glace was fascinated. “Copper,” he said, his fingers tracing the outline of the nearest corpse through the ice. “Icers have not used copper like this since the reign of Queen Cataya! Look at the way the plates overlap, the elegant simplicity, the lack of gems. A perfect example of the post-Catayan styles. This cave must be several thousand years old, Princess. Look at the dagger on her belt. They hadn't yet found the iron ore for steel, so they used stone. That's obsidian, I'm guessing. The records say . . .”
Stasia floated on a raft of cold air beside him. Another vaerce was fading from her hand, but the look of pure joy on Glace’s face was worth it. She could scarcely remember when she had seen him so happy. Below them, Musche had finished his bath and paced around the cave, sniffing the walls, rubbing his face against them. Best of all, the council might be over by the time Glace remembered his mission and forced her to return.
Of course, the Captain of her Guard was just trying to do his job. Stasia felt a twinge of guilt as she listened to him ramble. It wasn't his fault that Father was overprotective. If she missed the Council because Glace was distracted and neglected his duty, he would get in trouble. His sense of honor wouldn’t allow him to let her take the blame.
“Glace? Let's go.” She leaned in closer, trying to catch his attention.
“Look up there, the fifth body in. See how the costume changes? That is pre-Catayan, extremely rare. Wish I had my iceospectacle. Are you sure you can't tunnel through burial ice?”
“Of course not. Even if I could, I wouldn't. Princess or not, the Heritage would hang me, Glace. You know that. Come on, we need to get back to Iskalon.”
He looked her in the eyes, and she saw a wave of shame wash over him. He had forgotten his mission; had, in a way, disobeyed his orders. Frustrated as she was, her heart went out to him. “It was my fault, Glace. I distracted you on purpose.”
“We’re nearly two hours from the Council Hall, Princess. It will be half over by the time we arrive.”
“We'll run all the way back,” Stasia promised, dropping them both to the floor. His disappointment as he eyed the infinite shaft of ice one last time was a shadow of her own. Years of searching the tunnels like this, and still she had not found the Dream. Closing her eyes, since it was pointless to leave them open, she grasped Glace's hand and raced down the tunnel, back toward the edge of Flame territory.
Hi readers, I hope you enjoyed the first bit of my book, Dream of a Vast Blue Cavern! I released this book in 2012, but it hasn't sold as well as I've hoped. The main feedback I've been getting is that it starts too slow. This is a revised version of the first scene where I attempt to build a little more tension into the first few pages (you can read the original version via Amazon's first-look). I'd appreciate any feedback, but particularly I'd like to know where and why I might be losing readers looking at a sample. So if you have time to comment, I'd love to know if there were any places where I lost you. Thanks so much for reading! ~Selah