LYNX
Gripping my spear in one hand and a birchbark torch in the other, I duck out of Quancee’s chamber and head for the paleo-ocean. The vast expanse of water is mirrorlike, with skeins of blue bioluminescent algae trailing across the surface for as far as I can see. As I walk, my footsteps fill with water and leave a shining blue path behind me.
Quancee’s glow is still fading, and I can’t bear to stay in there and watch her die.
Planting my torch in the sand, I slump beside it with a deep sigh and rest my spear across my lap, while I wait for our enemies to arrive.
It comforts me to sit here, for I remember so many times when I sat here with Arakie and listened to him tell me magnificent and terrible stories of the long-lost Jemen. Gods, I wish he were here right now. Even if his advanced age wouldn’t allow him to fight at my side, his sense of humor would lighten the tension that twists and turns in my belly.
I must come up with a plan to defend us, but I can’t seem to think. I’ll probably wait in the door to Quancee’s chamber and fight them off for as long as I can, but I have never been a warrior. My paltry skills will hold them off for a few moments, perhaps, but not much longer than that. I can already envision how it will be: Two or three Rust warriors will break down the door. When I cast my spear at the first warrior to enter, the next warrior’s spear will pierce my chest.
Absently, I pick up a pebble and hurl it out across the ocean. Where the pebble skips, phosphorescent blue dots appear. As I pick up a larger pebble, a thought occurs to me.
Rocks scatter the shore. Can I use them to build a fortification in front of our chamber to hold off the warriors for a short time?
My torch sputters, and the gleam dances over the vast tracery of gigantic black beams that dangle from the roof, and reflects on the fallen beams that thrust up from the water. They remind me of giant gambling sticks tossed out in an ancient game.
“Quancee, where are you?”
Leaning my head far back, I try to imagine how the beams were connected to form lodges. Arakie said that many summers before the Battle of the Stronghold, thousands of Jemen sealed themselves in these caverns, both for protection from the advancing glaciers, and from the war raging outside. Hundreds went mad in the final days and killed one another trying to find a way out.
“Quancee?”
My voice echoes around the beams and comes back three or four times, growing weaker each time.
I expel a breath.
Thanissara left four hands of time ago. I have no idea what he told Ganmor when he returned to the Rust People villages. Even if he now has some sort of sympathy for me and Quancee, it might not matter. The Rust People may choose to believe Sticks and Jorgensen over Thanissara. I assume Thanissara has the support of the other five Dog Soldiers, but I have no way of knowing how much sway they have among the council of elders.
Casting a glance back over my shoulder, I study the square opening that leads back to Quancee’s chamber. It has a barely visible glow.
She’s still alive.
Gripping my spear, I replay my conversation with Thanissara and wonder what he meant at the end. Quancee knows you’re looking.
It will take me time to understand the things he told me, and I’m sure it will take Thanissara a while to process what I told him and to explain it to the other Dog Soldiers. Will they come to the right decision?
More importantly, what will Jorgensen do if it looks like the council is turning against him?
My blood goes cold.
Feeling helpless, I lay back on the sand and stare up at the torchlight fluttering over the black beams like translucent orange wings.
“Where are you?” I call out to the empty cavern.