Drowned (18 page)

I shine the torch ahead of us. “I think the path starts to rise up there,” I lie. I can’t see anything at all. “Tiam must have gone this way.”

“How do you know? Maybe he’s...” She doesn’t say it, but I know what she’s thinking. It’s the same thing I was thinking, something I thought and wished Fern was too innocent and hopeful to believe. Maybe he’s dead. No, I’m not going to consider that again, not when I wasted so many tears on it before, only to find out he was fine. So I just press ahead in silence, and we go lower, lower, lower, until I have to raise my good arm to keep the light out of the water. He’s got to be safe. He’s got to be okay.

Fern’s squeal plays on my eardrum. She’s up to her chin in water, her neck stretched as high as it will go, teeth clenched. I can’t carry her, so I know she’s right. We’ll have to go back. I wave the torch ahead of me one last time, hoping to see some evidence that Tiam was here, but there’s nothing. Then I sigh and lead her back the way we came.

“Maybe he went down one of the other passages,” she offers as I squeeze the water from my tunic. She mimics me, shaking her head so that the water from the ends of her long hair sprays everywhere.

“I guess,” I say. She’s right again. Tiam wouldn’t give up. He’d come here and find that this way was flooded, and then he’d check every other avenue until he’d exhausted them all. And that’s how we’ll have to be. We’ll check everywhere until we find him, alive or...
No, don’t think it.

I’m suddenly aware Fern has stopped walking. She’s standing, frozen, in midsqueeze, with her wet tunic in her white hands. I follow her eyes up the passage, to where the water meets dry ground. There, above the waterline, are four sets of eyes, glowing red, watching us.

Sixteen

The Eyes Reappear

“O
h, Coe,” Fern moans, inching beside me and grabbing my hand, “I’d
really, really
rather be with Finn right now!”

“It’s okay,” I say, just as much to calm myself as her. I wave the torch in a figure eight at them. “They don’t like fire. Or...water. See how they’re not coming near us? As long as we stay here, we’re safe.”

“But, Coe, we can’t stay here forever.”

“Well, of course. But we can take our time figuring out our next move. That’s a good thing.”

Just then, there’s a splash. The red eyes are closer. They’re testing the water. They creep toward us cautiously. So they don’t hate the water as much as I thought. Wonderful. With each step, Fern clutches my hand tighter and moves so near that she’s standing behind me. I don’t blame her. I’d give anything for something to hide behind, too.

We inch back until we’re in water up to my chest and Fern’s neck again. It’s so cold I can’t feel anything below my waist. My breath billows in front of me, blurring my view of the bloodthirsty creatures. No, we can’t stay in here forever. But the creatures don’t know that. All they know is that they’ve got us trapped, and they want to finish us off now. They’ve gotten used to the water. They wade in as far as they can, and then they start to swim.

I study the walls, the ceiling, for something for us to grab on to and hoist ourselves up. There isn’t anything this time. This time, I’m about to drown in my helplessness. I try to breathe, but the air isn’t making it to my lungs. I try to think, but my head is thick and empty all at once. My entire body is shutting down; the only thing I can do is move farther along the corridor, my feet heavy and numb, as if I’m walking to my own execution.

And then Fern looks at me, with that innocent sweet face so twisted in terror. I got her into this. Me. But even if I hadn’t, I would do anything to take that fear from her. To see her safe. Anything. I pull her up, onto my shoulders, piggyback, and wade until the water is up to my own chin. When I’m about to start treading water, a sudden loud crash rips the air, and a high, screaming squeal pierces my ears.

“What’s that?” Fern whispers, her hands tightening around my neck enough almost to choke me.

I turn. There are only three now, swimming with their noses in the air. Were there four before? Yes, I was quite sure there were.

Another animal yelp. This time, I see something glinting in the firelight as it whistles down on it, again and again, plunging it beneath the water in a great splash. And then there are two.

I squint through the darkness and make out a blond head. Tiam. He does away with another creature with a deep, guttural “oof.” “These things are really getting on my nerves,” he grumbles. His voice is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard, even if his tone is angry. Now I see him, easily dispensing of the last one with a swift blow of the craphouse shovel, as if it’s a weak, defenseless little insect and not the same creature that had nearly ripped a hole in his neck two tides ago. He’s obviously gotten to be quite an expert at killing them.

I slowly wade from the water, sink to my knees in the soft mud and sob.

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s going on?” he says, and I feel his hand on my shoulder.

I want to pour myself into his arms and stay there for a very long time, just feeling his warmth against my body. I am so starved for it that having him near and knowing it’s not possible is enough to drive me mad. If I look up, though, if I look into his eyes, I know I will crumble, weak, pathetic. So I wipe the tears from the back of my hand and, with every last bit of strength I have, say, very nonchalantly, “You came right on time.”

“I noticed their whispering always gets louder when they find their next meal,” he explains. “I could hear them all the way down the passage.”

I bring myself to my feet and try to ignore the quivering of my ankles as I motion around us. “Where does this passage lead?”

“I think it’s the way out,” he says, brightening my mood. A back door, a way out of the castle, is exactly what we need. But my heart sinks when he says, “But it’s like a maze. I’ve been all over the place, but I can’t find the way. There are words on the walls, though.”

“I saw the plaque in the entrance to this passage. It says B-M-T-E-N-T. I don’t know what it means.”

He rolls the sounds over his tongue for a moment. “They’re not words?”

“I don’t think so. Just letters.”

He scratches his chin. “Did you find another way in here?”

I nod. “But it’s no better than the way you came, I think. We had to climb through another narrow passage. And there are scribblers out there.”

His face falls. “We have to find a way out through here. It’s here. I know it is.” He seems so sure, I wonder how he can believe that so deeply when our luck has been so bad, when nothing has indicated there’s another way out at all.

Fern shakes her head, her face stone. “I wouldn’t go back the way we came,
ever,
in a zillion tides.”

I look at him and nod. “It was
that
bad. Plus, I’ve made more enemies. I was stupid. I brought the honey up with me and dropped my bag, and they saw it. Now they think the princess and everyone who works for her is hoarding the stuff. Things are breaking down. They’re in the castle now. I think they’re going through the stores. It’s scary.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then he exhales. “Wow. Do you think they followed you here?”

“No. The stores are immense. I think there are rooms and rooms, and they’re not all empty, like we thought. Tiam, do you think the king and princess were hoarding it all? The princess says she never went down—”

“That was always the rumor,” he says. “But Wallow and Star probably didn’t know half of what’s down here. If the stores managers kept quiet, they were rewarded with whatever they wanted.” He shakes his head. “Burbur never did look hungry.”

I nod. That’s the truth.

He looks behind me, as if expecting someone else. “Where’s Star? Didn’t she come?”

“She wouldn’t come,” I say softly.

His eyes narrow. “What? But she’s in serious danger! You said they’re in the castle now. The first thing they’ll do is go after her.” He runs his hands through his hair, angry. “Hell, Coe, didn’t I tell you to find her?”

I’m shocked. Tiam has never been one to raise his voice. But then, this is his princess, his love. “I did! She thought I was trying to trick her. She wouldn’t come with me. She’s under this delusion that she’s safer up there and that the two of you will get married and live happily ever after. I couldn’t pick her up and carry her!” I cry, so defensive my words tumble out on top of one another. “Then we went back to find her after formation, but Finn was already in the castle. I knew he’d go crazy if he saw me! I doubted she’d come with me, anyway! She’s easily the stupidest and most obstinate person I’ve ever met! But in a way, she’s right. There’s no place on the island that’s safe for her.”

“Down here it’s safe,” he says softly. “I would keep her safe if she were with me.”

“What? You expect her to live down here?” I mutter, catching my breath. “Besides, she would never come down here. It’s beneath her. And
you
wouldn’t go up there.”

“I’m sorry, Coe. You’re right. It is my fault. I’m an idiot. I wish I could...” He speaks in such a wounded way that I can’t help but feel as guilty as he does. “I’ll need to get to her.”

I clench my fists. I want to shake some sense into him. How he could be so blindly led by that beautiful, silly thing is beyond me. Instead, I change the subject. “How can you see? Did you find another torch?”

He shakes his head, and with a sudden click the room is bathed in pure white light, a thousand times brighter than the fire. I stare at the thing he’s holding in his hands, mesmerized. “There are boxes of them. Up near the chute. All you need to do is shake it. Watch this.”

He weaves it around, making a pattern on the wall most dizzying. Then he puts his hand in front of it and doesn’t pull away. It should be burning his hand but it’s not.

Fern applauds. “Wow. Can I try?”

He hands it to her, and she flashes it around the corridor, her face bright with glee. It illuminates the face I never thought I’d see again, only minutes ago. I think about those creatures and cringe. “Can we go someplace warmer?”

“Oh. Sure. You cold?” Tiam leads us back up toward the laundry chute. I notice as we walk that a lot of the crates have been opened, the contents have been rifled through. At the base of the chute, the crates have been arranged into a nice, safe little bunker. We climb inside. He’s laid out a little bed for himself made of shredded packing materials and a cloth blanket, and he has two or three of those portable lights stacked by a pillow, the can of honey and various other things I’ve never seen before and don’t have names for. Truthfully, it looks a lot more comfortable than the sleeping compartment. No wonder he’s not too excited to get back up to land. He finds a couple of cloths and hands one to me, then drapes one over Fern’s back, rubbing her shoulders vigorously. She plops down on his mat and he covers her feet. “You feeling better, Bug?”

She grins and nods, then starts to dive in to his open can of honey. “Yum. This is the best place ever. Let’s never leave.”

So funny how food, a few warm blankets—and Tiam—can make a dreary place a whole lot nicer.

“One bad thing about these...” He shakes the light at us, then sits beside her. “They don’t give off heat.”

She’s not paying attention. She’s rummaging through her bag. From it, she produces her wand, which she gently brings to his wound. It looks as if he might have succeeded in breaking the end of the scribbler nose off, somehow. He has wrapped some dingy fabric around his shoulder, but the blood is seeping through. “You are healed,” she says, with great flourish.

He smiles. “Hey. It feels much better.”

“Did you...break off the end?” I ask.

“No. Just filed it down some. It’s good. Can hardly feel it,” he says, but he winces a little as he speaks, as if just the memory hurts.

“You can’t leave it like that. It’s got to come out, right? It’ll get infected.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long time, just stares at it. “Maybe.”

There’s an odd noise coming from above, in the laundry chute, something that rises and falls eerily, like a woman crying out in pain. I listen, unable to keep the concern from my face.

“It’s the tide. High tide,” he explains. “That’s the water you’re hearing, Coe.”

“Oh.”

Fern sits up, trembling. “The craphouse! I didn’t clean it. Ana will be so mad.”

“I’ll take care of that,” I tell her, patting her knee. “Don’t worry.”

Tiam says, “You look tired, Coe. You should rest for a while. Then we can go look at the signs I found.”

I look for a place to lie, but there isn’t any room, unless I lie down right beside him. The thought makes my skin tingle. He sees my hesitation and moves over, leaving plenty of space for me. We can fit another whole adult between us. Which is just how I like it. And just how I hate it.

Not long later, Fern is snoring away, her cheek pressed against the portable light, cradling it against her heart. For all the horror she has experienced, she is so resilient. I wonder how often a person can bounce back before they begin to crumble.

“I have to get to Star, and quickly,” he whispers to me. “When the tide goes out, I’ll do it. I’ll go up the chute.”

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“I have to...” he says, then gives me a sheepish look. I don’t mean to, but it’s hard to stop my eyes from rolling and my body from cringing at her mention. “Coe, I told you, I promised the king I would look after her. And she was good to you.”

“She was good to me because you told her to be.”

He sighs. “She might be silly and naive sometimes, but she’s not a bad person.”

“She almost had us killed, Tiam. And she hardly cared at all when she thought you were dead,” I argue. At that moment, I want to hurt him. I want to make a hole in his heart as big as the one he’s created in mine. “She could care less about you.”

But his response only makes me feel smaller. He nods as if he’s known that all along, and says, in a small voice, “Maybe so.”

I look away, feeling guilty and stupid for being jealous. Over what? It’s not as if I have any claim over Tiam at all. He belongs completely to Star.

The next few moments of silence only serve to make me feel worse and worse about what I’d said. So I’m relieved when he starts to speak again. “Look at this,” Tiam says after a while, handing me something. “I found a whole crate of them. Guess it’s some kind of weird food they used to eat.”

I inspect it. It’s a long flexible brown stick, covered in red plastic. I read the words. TRUNDLE’S BEEF JERKY. “Did you try it?”

He shakes his head. “It looks a little...questionable.”

Suddenly it hits me, why he’s showing it to me. The piece of plastic that he’d wrapped around my wrist all those tides ago. My bracelet. I smile sadly. That’s exactly the kind of bracelet I’d get. It makes sense. If Star is worth a pearl, I’m worth that. Whatever it is. Its red plastic is meant to adorn only weird, questionable things. I put it aside and close my eyes.

It suddenly grows very quiet, and just as I’m certain Tiam has turned away to let me get some rest, I open my eyes. And he’s staring at me.

Holding a pile of shimmering pearls in his hands.

He’s threaded fishing line through each one, into a long string. I wonder how he managed it. It must have taken him forever. I can just picture him, sitting here by torchlight, carefully making the tiny holes. “They’re beautiful.”

“They’re yours.”

He waits for me to extend my hand, to take them, but I won’t. There’s some mistake. Or they’re not real. I’ll touch them, and they’ll disintegrate into dust. I bite my tongue. “But you need to give them to Star.”

“To Star? Why? These are for you.”

“For me? But I can’t wear pearls. Why would you...”

He swallows. “I know. I mean, I was hoping...” He takes the pearls away and shoves them hastily into his pack. “You deserve nice things,” he whispers. “I wish I could give them to you.”