Page 22 of Season of Naga: Volume 2
Darkness. Complete and absolute. Nothing exists but the sound of my ragged breathing and the distant drip of water somewhere in the unseen distance.
My body trembles uncontrollably, muscles spasming from exertion and stress. The impossibility of our situation crashes over me like a tidal wave. A broken sound tears from my throat, something caught between laughter and weeping, as if my body can't decide which release it needs more.
"And now we're in the dark, and I didn’t bring oil to refill the lantern," I say to the blackness around me. My voice sounds wrong, stretched thin and brittle like ice about to crack. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect."
I lean over to press my forehead against the cool stone floor, allowing myself one moment of complete defeat. We're lost in a forgotten tunnel. Lurok is dying. I've failed my sister, failed the naga, failed the only chance to prevent Father's plan from unfolding.
"I'm sorry," I sit up and whisper to Lurok, to Leira, to the hundreds who will die beneath collapsed stone because I couldn't find the right path in time.
Silent laughter rolls out of me in helpless waves that shake my exhausted body. I laugh until tears stream down my face, until my ribs ache with the effort, because the alternative is screaming, and screaming might bring whatever haunts these tunnels straight to us.
Then, as the last of my broken laughter subsides, I notice something. A faint glow. So faint I might be imagining it, a trick of eyes too long in darkness.
I blink, trying to clear my vision. The glow remains. Thin veins of light flow faintly through the rock wall beside me. I reach out with trembling fingers, expecting the illusion to vanish at my touch. Instead, my fingertips brush against stone threaded with liquid starlight.
"Biotech,” I breathe, memory stirring from hours spent in Father's library, of a heavy tome bound in strange leather, and pages filled with naga lore of living architecture.
The light is a cool, bluish-white, casting just enough illumination to see the outline of the wagon behind me and Lurok's massive form still sprawled across its bed.
I crawl to him, my body too exhausted to stand. The glowing veins grow brighter as I move, or perhaps my eyes are simply adjusting to their subtle light.
Hope stirs for the first time in hours, a tiny flame rekindling in my chest. "Lurok," I lean close to his ear and whisper. "Lurok, we're close. I think we're close to your home."
His eyelids flutter but don't open. His breath comes shallow and uneven, but he breathes still. Alive, if barely.
I rest my forehead against the edge of the wagon, drawing strength from the cool wood and the proximity of what can only be the sentient stone of the naga. Just a few minutes of rest. Just enough to gather what remains of my strength. Then we'll continue, following these veins of light to whatever lies ahead, be it salvation or doom.
My eyes flutter open, and I lift my head from the wagon's edge, my neck protesting the awkward angle it held during my brief surrender to fatigue. The ribbons of light stretch forward along the tunnel walls, beckoning with an eerie, silent invitation.
My hands throb beneath their makeshift bandages, the cloth already soaked through with blood. I flex my fingers, wincing as fresh pain shoots up my arms. No time for self-pity. No time for rest.
"Just a little farther," I tell Lurok's still form as I struggle to my feet. "We're following your people's light home."
I grasp the wagon's handle once more, gritting my teeth against the immediate bite of wood against raw flesh. My first pull summons tears to my eyes, but the second is easier, and by the third, pain has dulled to a distant roar beneath the rhythm of movement. The wheels roll easily across the stone floor, their wooden rims barely whispering against the smooth surface, astark contrast to the resistance of dirt that had marked every inch of our journey until now.
The tunnel changes with each yard we travel. Rough-hewn walls give way to smoother stone. The veins of light grow more numerous, more intricate. No longer thinly veined streaks but deliberate patterns that flow with meaningful rhythm.
The air changes, too, growing warmer and fresher. A faint breeze brushes my cheek, carrying mineral and earthy scents with undertones of something almost spicy I can't identify.
I round a gentle curve in the passage and freeze. The tunnel ends. Just ends. A solid wall of broken stone and rubble blocks our path completely, ceiling to floor, wall to wall. No gap large enough for even a child to squeeze through, let alone a full-grown woman dragging a massive naga on a wagon.
"No," I whisper, the word escaping on a strangled gasp. "No, not after we’ve come this far. It can't end here."
I drop the handle and stumble forward, pressing my palms against the pile of collapsed rubble, cursing the impenetrable barrier between us and salvation.
I turn back to check on Lurok. In the blue-white glow of the veined rock, his face is still, too still, the sharp angles of his features relaxed in a way that sends a spike of fear through me. I press my fingers to the pulse point at his throat, waiting one terrifying second, then two, before I feel the faintest flutter of life beneath my touch.
I cradle his face between my palms, my thumbs tracing the sharp angles of his cheekbones. "You can't die," I whisper, the words catching in my throat. "Not here. Not now. Please, Lurok."
Tears of frustration burn behind my eyes. I blink them back savagely. Crying doesn't move stone. Crying doesn't save lives.
The fury bubbling in my chest demands release. With a wordless cry, I snatch up a jagged rock from the floor and hurl it at the wall of rubble with all the strength left in mytrembling arms. The stone flies from my hand, spinning toward the barrier… and passes through it.
Throughit! As if the solid wall were nothing but heavy fog.
I blink hard, certain my exhausted mind has finally snapped. But there's no mistaking what I just saw. The stone passed through solid rock. Where it struck, the wall of rubble rippled like water, then settled back into the perfect illusion of an impassable barrier.
My heart hammers against my ribs, pulse roaring in my ears as I step closer. I reach out with shaking fingers but feel only solid stone. A scream builds inside me, fear and exhaustion crystallizing into pure rage. I curl my bloody, bandaged hands into fists and slam them against the wall with all my remaining strength. The rock warps around my knuckles like thick mud, seeming to absorb the impact before pushing back, rejecting me, forcing me away from what lies beyond.
