ARC: Sunstone (19 page)

III

Comminor had reached the bottom of the rope.

He hung there for a while, exhausted, the tumbling water weighing heavy on his shoulders like a thick cloak.

He had reached the Magna Cataracta just as Geve – the curly haired friend of Sarra he hated so much – disappeared over the edge. Comminor had rushed up in time to see Geve’s look of alarm as he lowered himself down the waterfall, and the Chief Select’s first thought was to hack away at the rope and let Geve plunge to his death. Nothing would have given him greater satisfaction than to hear the screams of the man who had dared to dance with Sarra, the girl who haunted his dreams.

But if he wanted to stand any hope of catching the rebel party before they reached the Surface, he had to follow them over the falls, and as they didn’t have any rope themselves, it meant using the one they had tied to the lantern.

Comminor had reached over to try and pull the rope up, but even with the five of them it had proved impossible against the weight of the water. And then the rope had gone slack, so he knew Geve must have reached the bottom – or fallen. Either way, it was time to follow them down.

“We are going down there?” Josse, the youngest Select, stared at the mass of tumbling water with wide eyes.

“We are.” Comminor climbed onto the edge of the slippery rocks. “I will go first. I will try to send you a signal or tug the rope, to let you know when I am at the bottom. If I cannot and the rope goes slack…” He hoisted himself up onto the middle of the rocks and held tightly to the rope. “It is up to you whether you follow me.”

“We will follow,” Viel said, and the three others with him nodded.

Comminor nodded. “I will see you at the bottom.”

His stomach had flipped as he lowered himself over the edge into the black tunnel, but once he disappeared into the darkness he had settled into a rhythmical movement. It had seemed to go on forever, descending hand over hand, one leg wrapped around the rope to try to keep himself stable. It had proved difficult, the weight of the water thundering onto his shoulders, and he was half blind with it most of the time; not that it mattered as the light faded quickly above him, and soon all he could see was the faint shine of the water around him from the last remnants of the lantern’s light.

But he had kept going, and then all of a sudden his foot slipped off and he realised he had reached the end.

He hung there, swinging a little from side to side. How far was left until he reached the bottom? Should he just let go and hope it was only a few feet? Would he fall onto rocks or into a pool? Perhaps the members of the Veris had all fallen and perished, and his body would join theirs and float away into the darkness.

What alternatives did he have? To climb all the way back up to the top? Even if he could do that, and he was not sure he had the strength, it would mean admitting failure. He would never know what had happened to the Veris, and that was unacceptable. He
had
to pursue them and stop them trying to escape. He had made that solemn vow when he joined the Nox Aves, had promised to keep the population of the Embers safe, and after a life of dedication to that cause, he could not now go back on it.

Plus, deep down, he could not bear the thought of letting Sarra go.

Reluctant to release the rope, he threw his head back out of the force of the water and reached out a hand. As he swung, it just brushed the other side of the tunnel. The water had obviously carved out a channel for itself over the thousands of years it had plunged through these caverns. But it gave him no idea how much further the water had to fall.

He strained his ears. Was it his imagination, or did it seem as if the already deafening noise of the water increased somewhere below him? He was sure it did, which suggested the bottom. But was that bottom water meeting rock, or the churning of water meeting water?

There was no way of telling. He had no choice but to take the plunge, literally.

His heart in his mouth, he let go of the rope.

He fell about twenty feet, the weight of his bag pulling him so he landed on his back in the water, and plunged beneath the surface. His arm struck rock on the way down and pain shot through him, and an involuntary gasp forced water into his mouth and gave him a moment of panic. But he had swum often in the Great Lake as a child and in the palace pool since becoming Chief Select, and he was used to the water. He kicked hard and ignored the pain to swim strongly upwards.

His head broke the surface and he gasped air, taking a few minutes to get to grips with his situation. He was in complete darkness, the river crashing into the pool a short distance to his right, but he had no idea how big the pool was or where he should swim. He forced himself to stay calm, to regulate his breathing, and he listened carefully to see if he could tell which way to go.

To his left the river continued to tumble, and he sensed it carried on its journey along a channel in that direction. So he should swim either forward or backwards and see if he could find the riverbank. He chose forward, knowing he had to get out of the way of the water in case the next member of the Umbra followed him down and fell on top of him.

He kicked out and swam with strong thrusts of his arms, wincing as pain shot through his shoulder. He had done some damage striking that rock, but at least he had not landed directly on it – he could have broken both his legs.

He was alive! Exultancy shot through him. At least he had that to be thankful for.

He stopped for a moment and trod water. No sign of the bottom. Something brushed against his legs and he recoiled, kicking out. Probably just a turtle or a salamander, he thought, but still, who knew what creatures lurked in the darkness?

He swam a few more feet, and then suddenly his knees bumped the ground, taking him by surprise. He lowered his feet and stumbled out of the shallows onto the river bank, collapsing onto the silty surface. He’d done it. He’d reached the edge.

He lay there for a while, gathering his strength, waiting. His shoulder throbbed, but he couldn’t tell if it was bleeding while everything was soaking. The air was warm, but still he shivered. He would have to change into the clothes he’d wrapped in the treated leather bag – hopefully it wouldn’t have let in much water. But first he had to find out what kind of place he was in.

He sat up, grasped his sunstone pendant and held out his hand. He imagined fire flooding him, flowing through his veins. The flame leapt to life on his palm, and he raised it to look around.

His breath caught in his throat. The Embers consisted of a series of natural caverns that had been added to over the years by generations of its inhabitants, the irregular walls gradually polished to smooth rock, but here and there in the outer reaches, the natural surface remained. This was what he had expected – a roughly hewn cavern, untouched and irregular.

Instead, his gaze fell on a large square room. The waterfall descended through a hole that took up a quarter of the ceiling to his left, the tumultuous water tumbling into a pool that stretched from the ground at his feet to the opposite bank some thirty feet away. The water then fed into a river that hurried away to his right through a wide corridor flanked by a walkway on either side.

Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet, wincing at the ache in his shoulder, and turned in a circle to look around the room. The walls glimmered in the light of the flame, and as he neared them he could see why. They were covered with paintings and gold leaf, thousands of shapes, some patterns like triangles and dots and wavy lines, some that looked vaguely like figures painted in reds and oranges, and lots and lots of flame shapes filled with yellows and golds
.

“Incendi,” he murmured. He had read about them in the Quercetum. And he knew what they had done.

Moving around the room, he reached the corridor where the river flowed away, and peered around the corner. There was no sign of the Veris, and no bodies left lying around the room. Presumably they had all made it down the Cataracta intact, and had swiftly moved onwards.

He itched to follow them, but knew he had to wait for the Umbra to arrive. A strangled yell at that moment made him turn, and he saw a figure falling through the hole in the ceiling to plunge into the pool below. He paced to the bank, held his hand aloft to light the way, and waited for the person to rise.

Viel’s dark head broke the surface, and he coughed and spluttered, shaking the water out of his eyes as he turned to find the source of the light.

“Swim this way,” Comminor instructed. “The water is shallow here – mind your knees.”

Viel swam strongly towards him, face filled with relief. “It took me ages to let go of the rope,” he admitted as he dragged himself onto the bank.

“Me also.” Comminor helped him up.

Viel turned and sat, waiting for his strength to return. “I thought I might land on rock. I seemed to fall forever.” He looked around, wiping his face. “Where are we?”

“Not quite where I expected,” Comminor said wryly. He walked forward and tried to look up the hole in the ceiling, but the torrential downpour of water forced him back. “Who is next?”

“Paronel.”

They waited a while for her to descend, walking around the room and inspecting the pictures on the wall.

“Who are they?” Viel ran his fingers lightly over the painted figures.

“I do not know.” Comminor was not ready to share the history of the
Quercetum
. His Umbra followed him unquestioningly, and although he knew it might be useful in the future to share his knowledge, now was not the time. “I think I hear something.”

They both walked to the edge of the river and, sure enough, in a few moments Paronel came hurtling down and landed with a squeal in the water.

“Azorius is next,” she panted as she hauled herself to the side. “Smoke and fire, that took some courage to let go of the rope.” She looked at Comminor as she wrung out her long blonde hair, obviously noting how he held his arm. “You are hurt?”

“It is nothing.” He did not reveal how much his shoulder throbbed.

He let Viel answer Paronel’s questions about the room and waited for the next arrival.

He did not have long to wait. A scream filled the room and Comminor’s body jerked towards the water automatically as Azorius plummeted down only to land flat on the rock that Comminor had struck his arm on.

Comminor did not have to go over to the body to know the Umbra was dead, his neck and back broken, his eyes lifeless. Anger and futility flooded him, and he tipped back his head and let out a howl.

Josse followed not long after, missing the rock by a hair’s breadth. He surfaced and stared silently at the lifeless figure before swimming to the side.

“Should we bring his body over here?” Paronel said, teeth chattering.

Comminor shook his head. His throat felt thick with emotion, but his voice, when he spoke, was firm and clear as ever. “We do not have the time.” He turned away from the body. “Let us see if any of us has any dry clothes. We will get changed, and then set off after the Veris.”

He tipped the items out of his own bag and they began sorting through. Had all the Veris made it to the bottom unharmed? It didn’t look as if anyone had died or they would probably have left the body there, too, he thought.

He pulled on his other tunic and breeches, which were only very slightly damp. Inside, rage boiled. It was Sarra’s fault that Azorius was dead. He could not believe he had taken her to his bed, and all along she had been planning to leave.

He would make her pay for that.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I

When the fire washed over Horada, Julen roared with rage. If he could, he would have turned and ridden back into the forest to try to rescue her, but his horse bolted, too scared of the flames. It was all he could do to hang onto the reins as the horse exited the treeline and fled across the fields.

It took him several minutes to calm him and bring him under control, and by the time the gelding finally slowed to a halt, they were both trembling. Julen was sure the whites of his eyes were as visible as the horse’s.

“There, there,” he murmured comfortingly, even though his own heart continued to pound. He slid from the saddle and led the horse over to a fence bordering the field. “The fire will not get you here.”

He glanced over his shoulder to make sure that was the case, seeing to his surprise that the flames in the forest had already died down. Waiting a few minutes until the gelding had calmed, Julen walked back across the field to the edge of the forest.

To his shock, the trees were for the most part untouched. Some of the undergrowth had been turned to ash and several trees had fallen, but it was as if the flames had picked and chosen which branches and leaves would burn, and had left the remainder. How was that possible? Clearly, it had not been a natural fire. The Incendi had snaked their way through the forest, and the only places to catch fire had been those the elementals had touched.

He drew his sword – although what good the blade would do against a fire elemental, he wasn’t sure – and walked into the trees. Silence enveloped him, the birds and creatures having fled, even the wind dying down to a whisper. He wove through the trees until he reached the spot where he was sure Horada would have fallen.

There was no sign of her.

There were, however, the smoking remains of her horse.

Julen stopped in front of the skeleton, his chest heaving with indignation at what they had done to Mara. She had possessed a sweet and gentle nature and had been Horada’s favourite for several years. Now her hair and mane had been burned away, her flesh charred, and the smell of roasting meat arose to assail his nostrils. He scanned the remains to make sure none of the bones belonged to a woman, but he had no doubt, Horada was not there.

His gaze raked the forest, but she had vanished. The elementals must have taken her, he thought.

He wished he had the time to bury Mara, but the forest would gradually welcome her into its arms. He did not want to waste a moment now he knew the Incendi had taken his sister.

As he made his way back to his horse, he took comfort from the fact that they did not appear to have killed her. Although the Nox Aves had come to the conclusion that the mysterious deaths occurring across Anguis had been caused by the Incendi removing those it thought important for the Apex to occur, for some reason it appeared they wanted Horada alive. Although pleasing, that in itself was puzzling.

He reached the horse, untied his reins and walked with him a little way to a stream where he let the gelding drink and graze for a while. Moving a short distance away, he knelt down by a clump of bushes and took the pendant Gravis had given him from around his neck.

He stroked his thumb across the wooden oak leaf, enjoying the frisson of warmth that spread through his hand. Knowing he carried a piece of the Arbor against his chest brought him comfort and strength during this time of uncertainty. The sunstone in the middle gleamed, catching the sunlight and giving him an unwelcome reminder of the flames in the forest.

Giving the wood one final brush, he pushed the pendant into the earth.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, as before, the ground began to tremble. Heat rushed through him, and briefly he was swept up in the energy from the Arbor’s roots, the channels that spread across the whole of Anguis.

He tried to quell the wave of fear he felt at the memory of what had happened last time. A creature had appeared before him: a firebird, with eyes that had branded him with white-hot heat. He had been certain it was the King of the Incendi, and he had never been so frightened at the thought that his enemy had seen him and knew where he was.

Afterwards, Gravis had reassured him that it was possible for him to remain out of the King’s vision – that the sunstone protected him. “We picked you for your special connection to the Arbor,” the Peacemaker had reminded him. “Now you must begin to turn that to our advantage.”

Focus
, Julen told himself, remembering Gravis’s instructions on how to protect himself while using the pendant. Just like when he used his abilities to camouflage himself, now he drew his energy tight around him, imagining himself like a shadow, unobtrusive and invisible to the untrained eye. And then he was ready to begin.

First, he thought of his sister. Last time, he had found her almost immediately. He had pictured her in his mind’s eye, painted her face and hair and thought of her bright spirit and teasing sense of humour, and the connection between them had sprung into place, drawing him straight to her.

This time it was different. He imagined her standing there before him, but although he felt himself travel to the west and reach out towards the mountains, there the trail stopped as if he had run into a stone wall. She was alive – that much he could tell. But the connection refused to form.

How was he to find her when he had no idea where she had gone?

Looking for comfort, he reached out instead to his brother, only to find once again the connection failed to form. Confused, he deepened the search, stretching out his senses as far as he could, but all he could get was an image of fire, of burning houses, trees aflame and bodies lying charred on the ground.

Nausea rose inside him, threatening to choke him for a moment. Did that mean Orsin was dead? He couldn’t be sure – he hadn’t been doing this for long enough. He didn’t get the same feeling he got when he thought of his father – a sensation of peace and rest, of completeness. Instead he felt unease and anger, a sense of being scattered, of being lost. His brother was alive, he thought. But not happy, and not whole.

His throat tightened, and his concentration waned. He became aware of his hands resting atop the warm wooden pendant, and the coolness of the earth. The stream sang merrily off to his right, and he could hear the quiet munching of the gelding as it snacked on the grass.

He went to sit back and release the pendant, but as he did so, found his hands somehow glued to the wood. He couldn’t move. He opened his eyes and looked up, alarmed to see the air before him glittering. The morning darkened as if storm clouds had moved overhead, although the sun still shone way off in the east.

The sparkling air darkened even more, the particles drawing together to form a shape. A figure, cloaked in grey, face covered by the hood, silent and still in the semi-darkness.

Julen froze. “Who are you?” he whispered.

“I am Cinereo,” came the deep voice. “Founder of the Nox Aves. Do not be afraid.”

Julen’s panic died down. Gravis had told him of the man, and he trusted the Peacemaker with his life.

“How are you here?” Julen asked. “Are you in Heartwood?”

“I am in many places,” Cinereo said. “The Arbor grants me the gift of travel along its roots. Our pendants connect us, young Viator.”

Julen frowned. “Viator?”

“It is the name the Arbor gives to its personal messengers.”

A glow spread through Julen. The Arbor thought of himself as its messenger?

“Can you see where my sister and brother are?” he asked. “They are both lost to me, and I fear for their lives.”

Cinereo said nothing for a moment, his head bowed. Then he said simply, “They live. But Orsin is weak. He has not the strength to fight the Incendi. He has succumbed to temptation and is lost to us.”

Julen clenched his jaw. “I will not believe that.”

“Trying to change what cannot be changed is like trying to swim against the current,” Cinereo said.

“I will not lose faith in him,” Julen said hoarsely. “He may not be perfect, but he is my brother, and all the time he lives, he will never be lost to me.”

Cinereo said nothing. Julen swallowed, unease rippling through him at having spoken back to the obviously powerful scholar. But he refused to give up on Orsin, even though he drove him to distraction with his irreverence and flippancy at times.

“What of Horada?” Julen asked. “I traced her to the mountains but lost her there.”

“She lies within the rock,” Cinereo stated. “Pyra, the King of the Incendi, has taken her.”

Julen went cold. “Is that who I saw last time I used the pendant?”

“Yes. His spirit lay beneath Anguis for many millennia, trapped there by the Arbor and kept in place by bonds too strong for the Incendi to break free. But the elements are once again out of balance and the bonds are weakening. Fire is rising, and one day it will sweep the world.”

Julen saw images of whole towns bursting into flames, of sheets of fire consuming vast forests, turning every living thing it passed over into ash.

“Then all is lost?” he murmured.

Cinereo held up a hand. “It is never the end while we have love, faith and hope. And you have all three in abundance, my friend.”

Julen swallowed. What use were those emotions when the world was doomed?

“Nothing is certain,” Cinereo murmured as if he had read the young man’s mind. “The battle will be won by those who are strongest of heart, and the Arbor’s followers have hearts strong enough to lift mountains.” He let his hand drop in a sweeping motion, and the glittering dust felt across Julen like rain. “Believe.”

Julen’s eyes closed at the brush of dust on his lashes, and immediately he saw in his mind’s eye his mother, tall and strong, her greying hair in its customary knot at the nape of her neck. The connection formed immediately, his energy reaching out to her, linking them together.

She was north of the Wall, west of Kettlestan, the darkness of the forest close around her. He could smell the rich loam and the green trees, and he could feel the race of her heart and her grim determination to flee, so he knew she was being pursued. The Incendi? Or was someone else after her?

He had never known his mother to portray fear, but for the first time in his life he could sense her anxiety. She had lost her daughter, lost Orsin, and now she thought herself all alone. He thought of them – his sister, his brother, his mother – all lost, all alone.

Cinereo’s words echoed in his ears, ringing through him like a bell.
It is never the end while we have love, faith and hope. And you have all three in abundance, my friend.

Julen’s father had only ever discussed his part in repelling the Darkwater invasion once. Oh, Chonrad had enjoyed relaying the events of the Last Stand at length after a few ales, and Julen had lost count of the number of times he had heard his father retelling the story to friends and family. But although he described the water warriors, the great battle at the end and the wonder with which they had all watched the Arbor grow, he had only recounted the moment he opened the fifth node in the depths of the labyrinth once.

He had related how the Arbor had told him it required something from him. Chonrad had not known what he could possibly possess that the Arbor would need. But it had turned out to be his strength. Not his physical strength, although that was more impressive than most. But the strength of his heart. In spite of his fearsome ability in battle, Chonrad had been courageous, compassionate and kind, and the Arbor had seen this, and asked him for help when it needed him most.

The pendant grew hot in Julen’s hand, and he inhaled as he let the love for his family sweep through him. He thought of his father – how much he had loved and admired him, and he thought of his siblings and his mother and how glad he was that he had been born into that family and no other, much as sometimes they clashed and drove each other mad.

And as he thought of the Arbor, the love he bore for the tree and the land in which it grew, so the tree loomed large in his mind, as clear as if he stood beneath it in the shade of its leaves. He had only been to Heartwood on a few occasions, but as he knelt there holding the pendant carved from part of the holy tree, he connected with it as surely as if he stood there with his hands on its trunk, feeling its heart – the Pectoris that Dolosus had been compelled to dive to the bottom of the ocean to recover – beat beneath his fingertips.

Energy shot from him, pure and clear, rushing along the Arbor’s roots to his family, enveloping them in his love, and carrying with it the message he carried in his heart.

I love you. I am here for you.

You are not alone.

II

The tunnels were stiflingly hot, the semi-darkness like a woollen blanket laying over them, thick and suffocating. Demitto wanted to push the damp air away from his mouth, almost choking on the humidity.

Anguis’s weather had changed over the last few years, growing steadily more tropical. In the past, he had trekked through the jungle, descended into some of Hanaire’s deepest silver mines and spent a week in Wulfengar’s famous hot pools, so he was well aware of the changing climate. But he had never encountered anything like this.

Catena held up a hand, and he stopped walking and closed his fist over the flame that had danced there. Atavus bumped his nose against his legs, subdued and uneasy underground. They plunged into darkness as if falling into a vat of black treacle, and he clutched hold of the rock wall, heart pounding at the sensation of being lost in an infinite void.

“I have you,” Catena whispered, and her small hand crept into his. He said nothing but clutched hold of it gratefully, using the feel of her warm skin to anchor him to reality.

“What can you sense?” he murmured, his mouth close to her ear.

She moved beside him, and then a faint glow appeared around the hand she had pressed against the rock. Demitto watched her concentrate, admiring the way the silvery light painted her cheeks and nose.

“We are getting closer,” she whispered.

He didn’t bother to hide his sigh of relief. They had been walking for what seemed like hours, although he was sure it couldn’t have been that long. The intricate maze of tunnels led deep into the mountainside, and he had been lost within the first few minutes after half a dozen twists and turns. Numerous times they had had to duck into side passages to avoid people walking through the tunnels, and twice they walked around a corner straight into guards.

He had been impressed with the way Catena handled a sword. Although in Laxony it wasn’t unusual for women to enter the standing army of a local lord, there had generally been peace in the four countries over the last hundred years. The world had grown lazy, and highly trained soldiers of either sex were few and far between.

But Catena had defended herself and dispatched the Incendi guards with skill. He reminded himself she was Chief of the Guard at Harlton, in charge of training the castle watch, and clearly not to be underestimated.

But at that moment, her skill with the sword was not the most impressive thing about her. He knew of the Saxum and their skill in reading stone, but he had never seen one in action before. Catena appeared as surprised as he by her new talent and had initially been reluctant to use it, sure Cinereo had been mistaken. But Demitto had encouraged her to try it, and just moments after she placed her hands on the wall of the tunnel, her eyes had widened, and he knew she was receiving sensations through the rock.

She opened her eyes and her hand dropped. “This way,” she whispered, “the passage is clear.”

He formed a flame on his palm and then they were off again, turning seemingly indiscriminately this way and that into the heart of the mountain. He buried his hand in Atavus’s fur the same way Tahir had done, finding comfort in the presence of the dog beside him.

Once again, it seemed as if they walked for hours. Demitto was glad he wasn’t wearing his armour. The sweat ran down him in rivulets, dripped into his eyes and made his palms slippery. They drank regularly from their leather water bottles, but he worried they would eventually run out, and that would not be good. The only way out of these tunnels would be by walking; he didn’t think he would be strong enough to carry Catena if he was dehydrated, and there was certainly no way she could carry him!

Catena slowed and then stopped, and turned to look up at him, puzzled. “Can you hear that?”

He could, and had been aware of it for some time – a low rumble through the rock, almost more of a sensation than a sound, vibrating up through his feet and legs, up his spine, making his head and teeth ache.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I do not know.” He had a feeling it couldn’t be something good. He didn’t think he had to put that into words though – the look on Catena’s face expressed his thoughts.

As they moved forward, he stumbled on some loose rock and reached out to get his balance. Then he exclaimed out loud.

She turned, eyes wide. “What is it?”

“The wall.” He rested his palm on it. Ever since they had entered the tunnels, he had been surprised that the rock was warm rather than cool. When delving into Anguis’s depths, the mines and caves usually became dryer and colder the deeper one went.

But this time, the rock was hot. He could not leave his palm there for longer than a few seconds before having to pull it away.

Catena did the same, concern flickering in her eyes. “What does it mean?”

He shook his head, unease filtering through him.

They walked down a long passage, met another at the end, and she turned right. The air grew thick and moist, as if someone had placed a damp cloth over his mouth and nose. The rumbling increased, and the heat became intense.

They rounded the corner, and both of them stopped dead in shock. His hand tightened in Atavus’s fur, stopping the dog from leaping forward. The passageway opened into a large chamber, the pathway running around the edge of the room several feet above the floor. The reason for this was that the entire floor consisted of rock heated to such a temperature that it became liquid, flowing in a scarlet river that burped and boiled and spat.

“Arbor’s roots,” Catena swore. “I have never seen anything like it.”

Demitto just stared. She had never seen anything like it because there had never been anything like it in Anguis before. The country was not – nor had ever been in written history – a volcanic one. He had read of such places in far distant lands, where the rock turned molten and mountains spat ash and lava that ran down into the valleys to cool eventually into folds of grey stone, but he had never seen such a phenomenon himself.

The magma fascinated him, and he could not tear his eyes away from it. Although the heat seared his skin and it was hard to breathe, the moving liquefied rock hypnotised him. It swirled in ridges of yellow and gold, and darkened in the centre to a deep red-black. It was almost like smoke, and he could imagining it wreathing around him, entwining him like tree roots, loving and tender in its touch…

“Demitto!” Catena shrieked and grabbed his arm, and at the same time Atavus leapt forward and sank his teeth into his tunic, holding him back. With alarm, he realised he was teetering on the edge of the platform, about to plunge into the fiery depths. The river spat sparks at him that burned into his clothing. His face flared with pain, and he was sure his eyebrows had been seared off.

He fell backwards, and Catena rushed to flick off the hot rock eating into his clothes like acid, squealing as her hand touched it. Atavus licked his ear.

“What were you doing?” Her heartfelt sobs wrenched at him.

“I do not know.” He lay back, panting, heart pounding at the thought of what he had nearly done.

“I nearly lost you.” Tears ran down her face, drying instantly on her cheeks. “You cannot leave me – I cannot do this without you.”

“It is all right, I am still here.” He put his arms around her, trying not to wince at the tenderness of his burned skin, and held her close. “I will not leave you.”

She buried her face in his shoulder and cried. “I have to find Tahir. He will be so scared without me. I cannot leave him to the Incendi.”

“We will find him,” he assured her. Once again, the feel of her soft skin, the smell of her hair, grounded him, and pulled him back to reality.

She lifted her head to look at him. Her tears had dried immediately, leaving her cheeks streaked, her eyes red, but she was so beautiful she took his breath away.

He pushed away Atavus’s inquisitive nose, slipped a hand into Catena’s hair, and kissed her.

She didn’t return it, but neither did she pull away. He pressed his lips against hers once, twice, then lay back.

They stared at each other for a moment. Then they looked at the bubbling magma.

“We should go,” she said, and he nodded and let her pull him to his feet.

They made their way up the platform through the chamber of molten rock. Demitto cursed himself under his breath, keeping well to the side away from the edge. What in Arbor’s name was wrong with him? Why had he been entranced by the magma, and why in all Anguis had he kissed Catena? That had been the last thing on his mind, with his hair singed and his skin raw from the heat.

Uneasy, slightly embarrassed and thoroughly fed up with being drenched with his own sweat, he followed her, Atavus hot on his heels, as the platform sloped upwards and led through a doorway.

And once again, they came shuddering to a halt, astounded at the view in front of them.

This time, the room wasn’t just big – it was vast. The platform they stood on jutted out from the rock halfway up the wall, and ran around three sides of the roughly square cavern. Dark doorways led from it on all sides into more passageways, leading off into what Demitto now realised was a complex far greater than he had imagined lay beneath the Spina Mountains.

The fourth wall was partly obscured by a gigantic pyramid.

Demitto stared, mouth open, stunned into silence. Formed by rectangular blocks of stone, the pyramid’s three walls reached up to a point only feet from the roof of the cavern. The entrance on the side facing him looked ten times taller than a man, fronted with huge doors that stood open to reveal a glittering, golden interior. The doors were flanked by two massive statues, painted and decorated in gold leaf to look like leaping flames.

All four walls of the chamber were also covered in paintings. Demitto had seen ancient art in caves in Hanaire, and tree carvings from hundreds of years ago in Komis, but again, nothing like this. Bright colours covered faded pictures, building layer upon layer of Incendi history. Hundreds of scenes showed battles between tribes, worship of gods, kings rising and falling, sacrifices and deaths. The cavern portrayed a whole civilisation, which had obviously existed for thousands of years.

But what chilled him more than the thought of this whole world existing beneath his own were the thousands of men and women working in the cavern below them. On the far side, he could see numerous furnaces making armour and weapons, and people training with those weapons, building up their strength and skill. Even from up high, he could see their red eyes, and he knew they had all been possessed by Incendi.

It was an army in the making, and although sweat still rolled off him and steam swirled in the air, he felt as if he had swallowed ice.

“Arbor help us,” Catena whispered, and he knew she had also realised what was happening. He had known the elementals were now taking over people, but he had not realised the extent of their possession. They were building an army to take to the surface, to take over Anguis and defeat the element of earth for good.

Catena’s hand crept into his, and his fingers tightened on it. Cinereo and the Nox Aves had no idea. They had sent him to save Tahir so he could help save the world, but how was he to find him and rescue him now?

Demitto knew he was a confident man – maybe even an arrogant one. He had great faith in his own abilities, and when the Nox Aves had approached him during one of his random visits to Heartwood, he had accepted their mission without giving it much thought. His initiation into the group and their stories about how events were unfolding had shocked and fascinated him, but even though he believed everything they told him, it had not affected him on a deep level.

He was a man who lived for the moment, who appreciated the food, drink, people, countryside and events occurring right in front of him. He wasn’t prone to analysing life, and concentrated on the physical world rather than the emotional or metaphysical one. He understood what was happening with the Incendi and desired to stop them, but his faith wasn’t deep or strong and thus hadn’t been threatened by what he’d learned.

For the first time, though, real, true panic flared inside him. This threat wasn’t some imaginary force dreamt up by scholars interpreting Arbor-knew-what from ancient tomes and fabricating threats. This was real. Anguis was in huge danger.

And he and Catena were the only ones standing in the way of the Incendi.

He gritted his teeth. Good to know there was no pressure.