Touch of Darkness (30 page)

Flinging her backpack over one shoulcler, she ran up the hill toward the convent, and escape.

That kick Kassian had given her didn't make it easy; she had trouble catching her breath. The cumbersome rifle weighed her down, too. But she wouldn't give it up—that, she might need.

Yet she kept glancing over her shoulder, desperate to see Rurik's battle.

A huge black-and-white eagle raced after the
hawk.

Ilya.

She ran on, and glanced again.

The birds engaged in an aerial battle, swooping and screaming. Ilya's wings beat at Rurik, but Rurik was smaller and faster, dashing in, tearing at the eagle with beak and talons.

The combat was beautiful, and deadly.

"Come on, Rurik," she whispered. "Come on. You can win this."

For the first time since she'd walked out of that chapel and into the arms of the Varinskis, hope lifted her heart. Maybe the two of them could survive this attack. Maybe he could forgive her for keeping the icon for herself. Maybe . . . maybe she could live with a Varinski, as long as his name was Rurik. Maybe none of that mattered. Maybe all that mattered was surviving—

She glanced. Halted. Turned.

She was high on the mountain now, looking down on the tumble of rocks and groves of trees that made up the countryside. The birds of prey still wheeled and fought, but the eagle was wearying, failing.

She couldn't see Sergei; he was hidden from her sight.

But she could see Kassian. He stood on a boulder, holding a bow and arrow—and he was aiming at Rurik.

Chapter 29

The arrow flew, not in slow motion like in the movies, but so fast Tasya didn't have time to scream a protest. It stabbed the hawk in midair, ripping it from its flight path, and for one horrifying second, she saw the red flare in its eyes. Then the flare was extinguished.

The bird plunged toward the earth and vanished in a grove of trees.

She screamed, putting all her energy, all her anguish, all her emotion, into a protest against the life that had led her inexorably to this . . . this
destiny.

Kassian Varinski heard her. He turned to face her. He smiled, his teeth glistening. And he pursed his lips in a kiss that promised humiliation, rape, death.

The old, familiar rage against destiny took hold of her. She took one step toward him.

But no. If she threw herself headlong at saving Rurik, everything—the icon, Rurik's family, humanity itself—would be lost.

And she couldn't save him. She'd seen his life vanish in a blink of an eye.

She knew now. She'd been a fool, chasing the wrong dream. The bitter dream. Revenge for her own family, even if it was possible, would be an incomplete victory.

But she could save the Wilders. They were Rurik's family, the people who had brought him into the world, the ones who formed him, shaped him into the man who had given his life for her and for the icon.

His sacrifice would not be in vain.

She would follow Rurik's directions. No matter how hard the road, she would take the icon to Washington.

But while she could not kill a Varinski, she knew she could hurt him. Hurt him badly.

Without compunction or pity, she lifted the rifle to her shoulder.

Kassian took one look at her steady hand, and ran downhill toward the place where Rurik had landed.

She shot and missed.

He vanished from sight.

"You coward! You son-of-a-bitch coward!" She wanted to kill him. She so badly wanted to kill him—

The eagle gave a screech of triumph, tucked in its wings, and dived down. . . .

Her heated fury vanished under the surge of cold hatred. This time, she aimed coolly, and shot.

The bullet smacked the eagle right in the breast.

The bird exploded in a flurry of black-and-white feathers, and the dive became a free fall.

Take that, asshole.

As much as she would like to savor the triumph, she had only a little time to escape.

Rurik was right. She had only one possible route.

She ran back the way they had come, and watched for the remains of the tree, black and crumbling, that marked the entrance to the cave.

And there it was.

She lowered the backpack and rifle through the little crack in the earth. She easily squeezed through, then lowered herself down until her feet dangled.

Her mission was crystal clear in her mind. Escape through the tunnel. Deliver the icon to safety.

All she had to do was let go.

Let go and disappear into the endless darkness where nothing lived, not even a breath of air. . . .

But in the end, what did her old fears matter?

The worst thing that could have happened had happened. Rurik was dead. She had to go on.

So she did.

She landed on the soft dirt floor, breathing the cool, damp air. A sunbeam from above touched her head. The tunnel wound away from her, down into a dark so black it hurt her eyes. At the end, she knew, was safety, another country ... a different life.

She'd already been reborn once from this tunnel. Now she had to go through the painful process once more.

But this time, she wasn't a child. This was her choice.

Taking up her backpack, she dug through and found her flashlight.

The plastic case was cracked.

Of course. On this journey, she could have no light.

She placed her fingers on the small ridge in the rock and started forward.

If only she weren't alone . . .

She strangled that thought before it could take over her mind.

She would not think of Rurik, of the flame of his life blinking out.

She would concentrate on getting away. She'd really hurt one Varinski, but the other two were alive. Would they hunt her right away? She thought not. They had a brother to care for, and Rurik's body to ... to ...

It didn't matter what they did to Rurik's body. What mattered was escaping. So she hurried into the endless night. The light from the hole into the cave gradually dwindled, as she'd known it would, and each step became a step into the unknown. No, not the unknown. Into the past. She'd been young, so young, and angry at being dragged away from her mother. She'd kicked at her governess, trying to get away, to go back and help put out the fire, and make that woman stop screaming. But Miss Landau had dragged her along. It was proper Miss Landau's imperviousness to Tasya's fuss that had finally captured Tasya's attention; Miss Landau always insisted on correct behavior no matter what the circumstances, and Tasya was not behaving properly.

Once Tasya stopped throwing her tantrum and started paying attention, she noticed the dark. She noticed other things, too—the smell of dirt, the slow, erratic drip of water, the feel of the stone beneath her fingers. She noticed that the unflappable Miss Landau shook with a fine tremor.

But it was the dark that had overwhelmed everything. Tasya and her governess were walking—Tasya was putting one foot in front of the other—so she knew they were moving. But it had seemed fake.

Like any child—like any person—the young Tasya had measured her progress by what she could see and feel and smell, and down here, nothing changed. Nothing changed for miles ... for millennia. Now Tasya was taller. Her steps were longer. Life had transformed her from the imperious child into someone who believed she could fix everything with her camera, her story, and, if necessary, her fists.

As she moved through the tunnel, keeping a steady speed, she wondered who she would be when she escaped this time.

She walked for hours, stopping only to press the light on her watch and look at the time. Two hours. Four hours. Eight hours.

Sometimes she felt a breath of air as another cave
opened onto the main tunnel. Most of the time, it
was just cool and pure, but once it seemed malignant,
and for just a flash the veil of time lifted, and in her
mind, she saw a man, laden with gold. He collapsed
under its weight, and died there in the alcove nearby.

She didn't run, but she wanted to, away from the
skull's empty eye sockets that watched her in
amusement.

Was she going mad?

Her feet hurt. Her eyes ached. She wanted to cry from loneliness, from the thoughts that circled in her
brain like the hawk itself—that she'd once lost everyone who loved her, and now she'd lost again. She faced an eternity bleak with loneliness, and maybe, just maybe ... an eternity of darkness, for there was no way out of this cave.

That made her stop.

Yes. There were more passages than this one, and if she went astray, she could wander, lost, until she
died.

Taking off her backpack, she looped her arm through one strap. Putting her back against the wall, she slid down and sat. She'd been walking so long, so fast, so hard, without food or water, that she was starting to hallucinate. She had no reason, none, to imagine a death in these caves, or to despair of escaping when everything was going perfectly well. She had the rock ledge, narrow and comforting, to guide her, and the knowledge she'd come through here
before.

No matter how long it took, she would escape the caves and the shadows, and once she was back in the real world, no one knew better than Tasya Hun-nicutt how to move from country to country without being noticed.

Well, perhaps Rurik knew better.

A tear slid down her cool cheek.

She wiped it away.

No time for that.

Digging out her canteen, she took a long drink, then found her granola bars and ate one of the poor, crumbled things.

This cave was simply a cave, and part of the real world. She wasn't Luke Skywalker, sent to a place out of time where hallucinations tested her strength and her beliefs. Twenty-five years ago, she'd come through this cave and suffered no harm, had no revelations, learned nothing except that her old life was over and a new life had begun.

Now it was better than before. Twenty-five years ago, Miss Landau had hurried her all the way, and when four-year-old Tasya couldn't walk anymore, Miss Landau had carried her. Then when they at last approached the opening on the other end, Miss Landau had been twitchy. Even the child Tasya had realized Miss Landau feared what she would find.

Today, Tasya also feared.

Yet after more than eight hours of walking, she knew pursuit was unlikely, and if the Varinskis hadn't discovered the outlet to the cave the first time, they certainly wouldn't this time.

So now she needed only to keep her head, stay fed, stay hydrated, and keep moving.

She shook the remains of the granola bar out of the package and into her mouth, took another good drink of water, stood, and dusted off the seat of her pants.

How much longer?

She didn't know. One day? Two? The child Tasya had had no concept of time; it had seemed as if the ordeal would never end. But it had, and it would again.

She groped until she found the ledge, still at waist level, and started forward. She heard a trickle of water, then a ripple, and realized she was walking beside a stream. The air grew fresher, as if somewhere close there was an entrance to the outdoors. Her heart lifted—and for the first time, she stumbled on a rock in the path.

She fell forward, her hands outstretched to break her fall. She scraped her palms and banged her shins on the tumble of rocks, and when she cried out, the sound echoed up and out.

She froze, and listened. Somewhere near, water was trickling. Far above her head, she heard a faint squeaking: bats. It felt damp in here.

Somehow, she'd reached a huge cavern, and maybe a lake or a stream.

She didn't remember this place, didn't remember it at all.

Cautiously she dragged herself back and onto her feet. She groped for the wall that had guided her here. She found the ledge and carefully inched forward, sliding around the rocks that blocked the path—and without warning, the wall disappeared.

She took a quick, panicked breath.