after the boy. There was only the weak light from outside to see by. He could see an arm’s length, maybe a little more, in front of his face but after that nothing. The mother passed her wailing children in. She was committed to Authun now, whether she liked it or not, and had no other option than to follow.
Authun tied the infants to him and watched the girl climb through. He had come to admire her and had certainly known men with less resolve. She needed no coaxing, morale building or bullying. She just followed.
The child guide stood very close to them and unwound a long cord from his waist. He passed it to the king, and gestured for him to tie it to himself and allow Saitada to take it too. She did. Then they went down into the dark.
Thoughts came and went in the blackness, as Authun fought to keep his footing and protect the children. The entrance on the Wall, he thought, must be how the witches admitted their few guests. It was too impractical as an everyday access. How did they eat? How did they come forth to visit in the night, to sit at the end of a stunned farmer’s bed and barter magic for children? There must be other ways in and out, thought Authun, unless they could fly - as was the rumour.
In the dark he became acutely aware of his breathing, of that of the children and the woman behind him, and of his footfalls, heavy and uncertain. He lost purchase on time. At one point he heard water and felt the boy take his hand and thrust it into a stream. He drank and helped Saitada do the same.
They rested a while and he passed the babies to the girl to be fed. He was aware of how young and fragile they felt as he gave them over. How had the girl endured this journey so soon after giving birth? He admired her. Then the descent continued, sightless. His hands scraped on rock; he stumbled; he felt the boy push him back as they slowed to clamber over a rock fall or squeeze through a bone-crushing passageway. Authun felt terribly vulnerable and hated it. The dark was an enemy he couldn’t fight; there a child could maroon him and he would be doomed. On they went, down and down, first cold then hot. They rested again, and then again. Had they been inside a day? Authun thought so. Down, down, down through galleries blind and cold, crawling into tiny fissures that scraped his face and arms as he wriggled through them. Standing room could have been just out of reach to his left or right and he wouldn’t have known. And still down, the children’s wails echoing through vast chambers or deadened by long coffins of rock.
How long now? Two days? Perhaps. Breathing became difficult; balance had to be fought for. The air itself seemed weak and lifeless. And then Authun felt the rope go slack to his front and heard childish footsteps going away. He pulled the taught end towards him and held Saitada to him with a tenderness that had never come as naturally before. He heard his own voice shaking.
‘We will overcome. Do not let go of the rope.’ He felt to see that she had tied it to her wrist. She had. ‘Sleep,’ he said. He didn’t expect her to understand but she did - not just his words but his feelings of concern and tenderness. She sat down. What else was there to do? Moisture clung to Authun’s skin; he was sweating and then he was shivering. He felt around where he was sitting, aware that he could be a step away from a terrible drop. He pulled the girl to him, presenting her children to her. The terrible danger of their situation made them seem even more precious to him. The girl fed the babies and Authun struggled with the fixings of his scabbard, releasing the cords. When the mother passed the children back he tied their feet to his belt, stowing his sword under the boots he used for a pillow. For the first time in his life he valued something more than his weapon in a time of danger.
It seemed to Authun that sleep came - but what is waking and what is sleeping in such darkness? The body has its
Authun tied the infants to him and watched the girl climb through. He had come to admire her and had certainly known men with less resolve. She needed no coaxing, morale building or bullying. She just followed.
The child guide stood very close to them and unwound a long cord from his waist. He passed it to the king, and gestured for him to tie it to himself and allow Saitada to take it too. She did. Then they went down into the dark.
Thoughts came and went in the blackness, as Authun fought to keep his footing and protect the children. The entrance on the Wall, he thought, must be how the witches admitted their few guests. It was too impractical as an everyday access. How did they eat? How did they come forth to visit in the night, to sit at the end of a stunned farmer’s bed and barter magic for children? There must be other ways in and out, thought Authun, unless they could fly - as was the rumour.
In the dark he became acutely aware of his breathing, of that of the children and the woman behind him, and of his footfalls, heavy and uncertain. He lost purchase on time. At one point he heard water and felt the boy take his hand and thrust it into a stream. He drank and helped Saitada do the same.
They rested a while and he passed the babies to the girl to be fed. He was aware of how young and fragile they felt as he gave them over. How had the girl endured this journey so soon after giving birth? He admired her. Then the descent continued, sightless. His hands scraped on rock; he stumbled; he felt the boy push him back as they slowed to clamber over a rock fall or squeeze through a bone-crushing passageway. Authun felt terribly vulnerable and hated it. The dark was an enemy he couldn’t fight; there a child could maroon him and he would be doomed. On they went, down and down, first cold then hot. They rested again, and then again. Had they been inside a day? Authun thought so. Down, down, down through galleries blind and cold, crawling into tiny fissures that scraped his face and arms as he wriggled through them. Standing room could have been just out of reach to his left or right and he wouldn’t have known. And still down, the children’s wails echoing through vast chambers or deadened by long coffins of rock.
How long now? Two days? Perhaps. Breathing became difficult; balance had to be fought for. The air itself seemed weak and lifeless. And then Authun felt the rope go slack to his front and heard childish footsteps going away. He pulled the taught end towards him and held Saitada to him with a tenderness that had never come as naturally before. He heard his own voice shaking.
‘We will overcome. Do not let go of the rope.’ He felt to see that she had tied it to her wrist. She had. ‘Sleep,’ he said. He didn’t expect her to understand but she did - not just his words but his feelings of concern and tenderness. She sat down. What else was there to do? Moisture clung to Authun’s skin; he was sweating and then he was shivering. He felt around where he was sitting, aware that he could be a step away from a terrible drop. He pulled the girl to him, presenting her children to her. The terrible danger of their situation made them seem even more precious to him. The girl fed the babies and Authun struggled with the fixings of his scabbard, releasing the cords. When the mother passed the children back he tied their feet to his belt, stowing his sword under the boots he used for a pillow. For the first time in his life he valued something more than his weapon in a time of danger.
It seemed to Authun that sleep came - but what is waking and what is sleeping in such darkness? The body has its
Similar Books
