9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

F or four days of maddening tunnels, stairs, and passageways, Zylah kept moving. Four days of trying to call her sword to her and failing. Evanescing was still out of the question. Mercifully, there had been no more cobwebs, no more spiders, no more giant wolves, or any other kind of monster for that matter. She’d eaten only moss and some glowing vein cap, a mushroom she’d read about many times but never come across, sprouting from cracks within the rock in the dark, damp corners of the maze.

There had been no sign of Holt, either, not even the faintest glimmer of feeling down their bond. But Zylah didn’t let herself dwell on that. I’ll find you , she promised him, over and over; promised herself.

Arioch’s journal had been destroyed, its pages drenched and ruined by spider blood, every bit of ink leaching into the next. Not a single sheet was legible, and given the futility of carrying dead weight, Zylah had opted to leave it behind. All that remained was the single dagger, the bladder that was now almost empty, the flint and striking rock.

Now and then she’d entered larger expanses of the maze, though she was certain now it was some kind of cave network, some parts with steps and arches and columns carved out of the rock, roots and vines twisting down from somewhere above. Once, she’d crossed a bridge made entirely of roots, the drop beneath too dark to see an end to it, only to circle back around to it an hour or so later. A short while later she’d run and run and run up a spiral staircase, only to reach a dead end at the top and had to limp back down, a slew of curses on her lips.

Without the Seraphim’s map, she had no idea if she was going in the right direction, whether she’d been heading for the exit or making her way to the centre. How long had it taken him to find his way to the entrance, only to discover he couldn’t escape?

“ You have until the blood moon ,” Ranon had said. For what, Zylah didn’t know, but there would be no summoning Pallia. There had been too many opportunities for her grandmother to intervene, to help in some small way, and she hadn’t. Which left Zylah with only one conclusion: Pallia was gone from this world, whether Ranon believed it or not.

Another more pressing need had awoken her that morning. Zylah was almost out of water. And though she knew she could last days without it, it would slow her down, weaken her considerably. Ranon’s maze was not a place for weakness. The many skeletons she’d passed, the spiders, the twisting passages and looping routes were all evidence enough of that. Once or twice she’d felt certain she’d seen the glimmer of a wraith in the darkness, the shadows of ghosts watching her but never drawing close.

The dead had their uses, though. Zylah stole a waxed cloak from a skeleton, one end fastening through a loop at her shoulder, the hood only raised when she slept in fretful bursts. Though it was vastly different in style and age, it had reminded her of the one Holt had given her when they’d first met. “How do you do that?” she’d asked him when it had appeared on his arm. “Are you just pulling this stuff from nowhere?” Her fingers reached to her throat, recalling the way he’d fastened the buttons for her, warmth spreading across her chest at the memory. Everywhere she turned, roots and vines erupted from the rock, a constant reminder of the magic he’d favoured, as if the maze was taunting her. Part of her suspected it was.

Zylah pressed on down a mossy slope, following a steady drip drip drip somewhere below. Odd formations hung above her like icicles carved from the rock, others rising to meet them but never quite touching, like the teeth of some giant beast. She stood at the base of a pair, fingers brushing over the textured surface, a chalky dust coating the tips when she pulled them away. The air was different here, an almost metallic tang to it that stuck in the back of her throat.

Drip drip drip . Arioch had told her to collect water, and though she’d tried, it was damned near impossible to catch the tiny droplets from the jagged rock, short of running her tongue over them. Zylah felt confident in her knowledge of plants, but she didn’t know enough about minerals and their possible toxins to risk doing that. Such an abundance of moss was a good sign, and though she was sick of the taste, she took her time wringing out handfuls of the stuff into her water bladder before shoving it into her bag as she descended.

Ranon’s weakness occupied her thoughts. The way Aurelia appeared weakened, too, as if her father had drawn from her like a fountain. Pallia. The blood moon. What was Ranon planning? He needed power, magic, but drawing from the moon seemed farfetched even for an ancient Fae.

A splash of water had her stilling. Zylah crouched low in the shadows, waiting. No sound followed it, but still, her heart hammered hard against her chest until she convinced herself it had been nothing more than a falling rock. Sunlight touched the base of the slope below, a shadow slashing through it and then gone.

It was as if every twist and turn of this maze was designed to urge her to turn around, to retreat, to cower and hide. To wear her down. Zylah laughed soundlessly. Not too long ago, it would have worked. Would have had her curling up in the moss and staring into nothing. But that was the trouble with shutting everything out: she’d shut out the good, too. Denied herself time with Holt.

Never again.

She reached the end of the slope, raising a hand to her eyes to shield them from the refracting light. A large cavern spread before her, a wide shaft of sunlight illuminating it and bending off an expanse of water and the angular planes of glass. Not glass, she quickly realised, but countless purple crystals sprouting from the cavern walls like clusters of giant mushrooms, far larger than the ones she’d come across before. Even the strange formations that reached from above like thin fingers were covered in them, something about them achingly familiar. Zylah sucked in a breath. She’d seen the crystal before, in the sword Holt had given her.

A handful of bats flew from one shadow to another, a small rock falling into the water below. It stretched the entire expanse of the cavern, shadowed by a broken platform that sat far above. Crumbling pieces had tumbled into the water so long ago that crystals now sprouted from them, too. And though it was breathtaking to behold, a chill danced down Zylah’s spine at the sight.

The air was still, calm. No fetid stench permeated the space. With tentative steps, she approached the edge of the water, lowering to her knees to peer into it. Fresh. Clear, her dishevelled face staring back at her. She reached a hand towards her reflection, pausing when a shape she hadn’t yet noticed caught her eye.

Zylah almost fell back on her heels. A skeleton. And another, and another. She scrambled to her feet, staggering away from the shore. Bones littered the edges of the water, some jutting out of the shallows. She cast her gaze across the deep blue, remnants of the broken platform stitching a route across the glassy surface. There was every chance that whatever had killed the fallen around her was long gone. But Zylah knew that was a fool’s hope. And a fool she was, because she wasn’t going back. What good would it do? Four days. Four days back in the direction she’d come from. Towards Raif. Towards Ranon. Or ahead, across the water. And a possible way out.

The only sound was the steady drip drip drip of water from the rocks above, the occasional movement of bats. She could wait, Zylah supposed. Observe. Wait until nightfall to see if she could catch a glimpse of the moon, try and discern when this blood moon would be. Her knowledge of lunar phases was limited to the basics, but if she could reach her friends, they might know something she didn’t.

The cavern felt quiet, peaceful, as if it were waiting for her to make her decision. But Zylah knew even indecision would come with a price in the maze. Something fell through the opening above, fluttering like a leaf, drifting down in lazy circles.

Not a leaf. A feather. She held out her hand. Called and called and called on that place within herself where her magic once dwelled, willing the falling feather to appear in her hand.

A breath escaped her as something soft tickled her palm. It was one of Kopi’s; she’d recognise it anywhere. He’d made it out.

Zylah tucked the feather into her braid, decision made. She’d managed to top up the water bladder a little from the moss, and she had enough of the wiry green plant to keep her going. She surveyed the water carefully, eyes roaming over the places the fallen rocks created stepping stones across the surface, the nearest a stone’s throw from the shore where she stood. With the bag shifted higher on her shoulders, Zylah stepped off the shore.

Frigid water seeped through her boots. Hit her knees. Her thighs. She shoved the cloak away from the surface, determined to have one item of clothing remain dry. At the very least, she had Arioch’s flint and striking rock held above her.

The water came to her waist when she reached the first of the fallen rocks. The bag went first, then Zylah heaved herself up, scrambling to the centre of the plinth and catching her breath. Purple crystal winked at her from all around, glittering in the sunlight. High above, the opening to the world beyond the maze taunted her. But no matter how much she tried, how much she called, nothing within her answered when she tried to evanesce.

It was enough to keep her moving. With calculated leaps, Zylah made her way from plinth to plinth, almost losing her footing more than once on the slippery rock. At the sixth, a skeleton lay prone, a spear beside it. There was no hesitation as Zylah snatched it up, using it to steady herself as she moved to the next stone.

She spared a glance back to the shore, movement in the shadows drawing her attention. Likely more bats, she told herself. Still, Zylah didn’t linger. She was halfway now, and if she couldn’t find a way to climb the rock on the far side, she’d be forced to turn back. Leap, steady, measured steps, repeat. Only four remained. A splash sounded from somewhere, but Zylah refused to turn and look. Leap, steady, traverse. Another splash. Three left to go.

She leapt again, the water beneath her rippling, a shadow moving under the surface. Her legs slid out from under her, a foot grazing the water, but Zylah hauled herself out as quickly as she fell. A crack sounded, her fingers tightening around her weapon as the entire cavern rumbled, shards of rock crashing from above.

Not good, not good, not good.

A dark shadow moved beneath the water. A very large, dark shadow, with a glimmer of something that looked far too much like scales. All she could think of was water serpents, more creatures from Kara’s storybooks, her stomach flipping. Zylah didn’t wait to find out if she was right. She leapt for the next plinth, the spear falling from her grasp as she landed face down, steadying herself with her hands. A shadow blotted out the light, a curtain of frigid water showering her from head to toe. Zylah held her breath, fingers wrapping around the spear, and rose slowly, a hot gust of fetid, damp air blowing across her face.

At her full height, a wall of dark green scales faced her. Zylah swallowed. Took a tentative step back to the edge of the plinth and looked up. Three jaws snapped open, and Zylah ran, hauling her body past the creature to reach the final plinth, then leapt for the shore. The beast roared, rocks smashing off the cavern walls, bats darting out from their hiding places.

Three. Heads. And she had one godsdamned dagger and one rusted spear that she hastily fastened behind her with the hem of her cloak as the beast searched for her.

Rocks bit at her fingers as she climbed, her wet clothes slowing her ascent. Water splashed from somewhere, then stilled, as if the thing had submerged itself. Three heads, each with dark eyes in lidless slits, long, gnarled snouts and mouths full of four rows of deadly teeth, each one taller than her. The water serpents in Kara’s books hadn’t had three heads. And the heroes who slayed them had real weapons. Armies. All Zylah had was sheer desperation and the will to live.

She’d almost reached the platform when the beast emerged, all three heads roaring as they lunged for her again. Zylah leapt. Slammed the spear into the neck of the nearest one, the weapon rattling in her hands as she swung from it, the creature screaming.

Another head snapped for her, and again Zylah leapt, unsheathing her dagger and sliding across the third head as the second snapped its teeth into the first. The two heads thrashed and fought, the third writhing beneath her, but Zylah slammed the dagger into its scales to maintain her hold. Black blood sprayed across her face, the creature screaming and bucking beneath her.

Something crashed into her side. A tail, Zylah realised dully, as her grip slackened, her vision blurred. It slammed again, and this time Zylah fell and fell until she hit the frigid water, the bag and the cloak dragging her down, down, down.

Above her, the three heads became shadows, her eyes falling shut as she sank. She was back in the hot springs, running from Arnir’s men, her wrists bloodied and bruised from her cuffs. Something had appeared in the blue, a face, and then it was gone. A feeling, a tremor in the water she hadn’t understood then. She felt it now. Stirring. Louder. Holt.

Her eyes snapped open and Zylah kicked. Shoved the bag over her head. The cloak followed it. Her lungs burned, but she fought for the surface, arms thrashing as she swam for the shore. She heaved herself onto the rocks, gasping for breath as water splashed behind her. A weapon. She needed a weapon. Zylah shook as she climbed, cold seeping into her bones, each breath like hot coals in her throat. But she’d felt him, and the thought urged her to climb higher.

The serpent still fought with itself. The centre head lolled, lifeless, while the outer two snapped and thrashed at each other, smashing into rocks and crystals, and Zylah climbed. She stilled in a shadow as her body trembled, as she willed her breaths to steady. Called on her magic, hand held open for her dagger. A sob escaped her when its weight sank into her palm, when the serpent’s black blood marred her skin. She shoved it in her belt and climbed higher, the rock shaking beneath her fingers, pieces tumbling around her. One clipped her shoulder and Zylah screamed.

That was enough to ensnare the serpent’s attention. Two heads roared, and Zylah flung her dagger without hesitation, the blade hitting its mark: an eye. The beast thrashed and wailed in pain, the injured head sliding across rock in an attempt to free the blade, narrowly missing Zylah as she climbed.

But a dagger could only do so much damage. What Zylah needed was a sword. Her sword. The one Holt had given her, before they knew what they were to each other. She didn’t close her eyes this time. Zylah pulled from that place deep within her, felt the flare of magic along her skin, the weight of her sword in her hand as her fingers tightened around the hilt, and didn’t hesitate. With one swift push, she hurled herself at the head that wasn’t thrashing, her wounded shoulder screaming in protest as she clung to the ridges and flares just above its eyes.

Purple crystal blurred in her vision, shards of rock narrowly missing her head as the creature bucked. Zylah held herself in place with her thighs pressed tightly to one of those gnarled ridges, raised her sword above her head and slammed it between the thing’s eyes.

The serpent roared. Flung its head back and Zylah lost her hold, lost her grip on her sword, her body hurtling towards the broken platform. For a moment, she thought she’d made it, but then her fingers brushed the edge and she was falling, a hand still outstretched as if she could will the rock to bend and meet her.

Only it wasn’t rock that reached for her, but roots. Roots that for the span of a blink looked like an outstretched hand, then wrapped around her wrist and pulled. A broken laugh escaped her, and Zylah tugged on her magic, willing more vines to reach for her and pull her to safety, scrambling to pull herself onto the platform, her heart pounding in her chest.

She rolled to her back, and for a heartbeat, it felt like a shadow lay beside her, but then the serpent smashed its head against the edge of the plinth and Zylah leapt back as rocks crumbled away. It couldn’t reach her, but it could smash through the rock with enough blows.

With one hand at her side she called for her sword, leaving the thrashing serpent to destroy the cavern as she turned away.