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Marat felt the darkness eat away at him each improvised day they spent in the caves.
They burned the firestarter feather constantly, and he began to get nervous that its lifespan would come to an end. Although, no firestarter truly ended. But, the feather did not come without a curse - like any Nothing-touched object.
Once at the end of its use, it would turn ablaze for seven years and never go out, passing its fire to anyone who attempted to touch it.
He saw the plants become scarce the further they went in. Val did not seem to notice, but the mare certainly had. She shook her head and snorted and bumped her muzzle against his back. There was plenty of water, but its acidity grew higher, and there was no telling what metals and minerals it had carried with it so deep into the caverns. Soon, it would not be safe to drink.
He watched Val, who was completely unaware, looking for the cave crawlers - he saw her warily lean into every corner, curiously peeking into alcoves and behind rocks. She claimed they still scared her, but he saw how intrigued she had been. She jotted things down in the journal, although for the life of him he did not know what they could possibly be.
When it came to cave crawlers, he was glad there had not been an existing entry.
He was not going to tell her about the next stage of their life where cocooned in their own mucus, they would go through a period of digesting themselves - breaking down organs and pulling the nutrients from their own livers and fatty tissue. Once they underwent gestation, the newborn cave crawlers would emerge with many more limbs than they had gone in with.
The human-sized arachnids were still fairly shapeless, but now they were full-fledged carnivores. They would squeeze into the tightest cracks between rocks and hibernate, their young bodies weak and exposed, until their first meal came near enough for them to grab and drag into the crevasse, breaking their bones in the process.
He was certainly, certainly not going to tell her that.
He would put yarrow oil on her wrists and his own. She would sleep, thinking he was doing the same. But he spent most of their resting hours listening, watching for whatever would crawl out of the depths below. The shadows the torch had produced camouflaged passageways behind jagged rocks. The long, icicle-like formations hanging from the ceiling could have hidden any manner of things behind them - things that did not need solid ground beneath their feet.
When they saw the light, it was as if a heavy burden had fallen from him, as if he’d been gifted a blessing by the All-Father himself.
He dreaded that even if they found a way to get out, it would not be large enough - or accessible enough to get the mare through. He knew that Val would not leave Aditi behind, and he knew that he had to make sure that she did.
Then, he stepped into the muddled water, and his feet hit a sandy bottom and then land.
The second Val had collapsed on the sandy grass before him; it was as if the worst of Marat’s fears and worries had been lifted from him. He’d always felt a sense of… keeping her alive, really, but his ties to her safety now felt different and somehow more important.
The thoughts played over and over incessantly in his mind ever since she told him. Perhaps he was treating her differently now.
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“Valeria.” He was standing over her; she must have fallen asleep after letting her eyes shut for a moment.
It was getting dark, but a soft, welcoming dark of the night and not the all-consuming blackness of the cave. She breathed out a sigh of gratitude before sitting up. He lowered beside her and pulled out a roughly sketched map on a ripped-out, blank journal page.
She frowned at his carelessness with her things but said nothing.
“We are in this valley. I am sure of it. We are near the western wall.” He jabbed his finger at a spot on the map. His crude drawing showed them between two mountain ranges, where the river split away from the western mountains.
She looked to the right of where he was pointing; he’d drawn out a map that went nearly all the way east. The Semey Bridges were marked as well as the Deep Wood. Looking at it there, what he indicated to be Nasmeria was a region inside a range of mountains - surrounded on all sides except for what seemed to be a passage not too far from where they were.
“Does this mean we are near Typhonos and Elena?”
“We are near the western wall.” He repeated with less enthusiasm in his words. “We can make it there in a day if we leave at sunrise and do not stop to rest.”
Marat realized that Val must not have heard Johannes.
He was still going to try to get them there; he knew that Johannes could have lied - but it was far more likely that Korschey had indeed given Typhonos the choice to give sanctuary to Val and break the neutrality or turn them away and continue to live outside the devastation of war.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
And, of course, Typhonos would choose his people.
But they had nowhere else to go. And what Johannes told him had been true - Marat was dooming Val to life on the run. They would run out of places to go sooner rather than later.
As they got closer, Val began to notice that the approaching mountains had a wall built into the cliffs and rises. It was dark and tall, although it was impossible to tell the true size as the closer they got, the more massive the mountains and the wall had revealed themselves to be.
They reached it by evening time.
Val was completely taken aback by the structure. It was taller than any building she had ever seen - even the Cathedral. The birds circling near the very top of it appeared as only small specks in the sky. The monolithic enclosure had been made entirely of iron.
Val had never seen so much metal in her entire life, but here it was, dark as charcoal and its surface rough and showing signs of being hammered with something large and undoubtedly near impossible to wield.
“The Iron Wall. Beyond it is the Titan’s Passage,” Marat stated dryly. “It stretches for leagues before disappearing into the mountain. The gates aren’t far.”
“Who could build such a thing?” She marveled.
“It is as it sounds. Early rulers of the dynasty had managed to enslave Nothing-touched behemoths to build it. The breed has since died out; the creature’s lungs could not adapt to the oxygen levels here.” His eyes scanned the very top of the wall.
Johannes would surely know that they would head there. Marat’s only hope was that his army would have to take the long way around the desert.
They reached the gates past dark. It was difficult to see, but the moon’s reflection off the ornate designs covering each individual door gave a good idea of just how grand the closed gates had been.
Val could not imagine how much strength and what mechanisms would be needed to budge them open just a foot or so.
Marat had advised they set up camp there against the wall. They did not light a fire for the fear of riders coming in the night.
The two were awoken just before dawn by the loud metallic shifting noise above. Marat was up quickly. At a small window two hundred feet up, there was a man. His face was veiled, head covered in a hood. He leaned down to get a good look at them and then disappeared - the window shutting closed noisily behind him.
“They know we are here. And now we must be patient..” Marat said, dropping his eyes to Val.
They waited. Night had come and gone. And then, another.
“No one is coming,” Val quietly told Marat, defeat breaking through her words, “are they?”
“I don’t know,” Marat admitted, “If they didn’t have direct orders, it would take days to send word to the capital. We can afford to give it three more nights. Adequate time if a messenger had been sent. Then, we move on.”
Two more nights passed. On the evening of the third, the teeth-grinding creak of iron on iron pushed through their ears. It was not above them this time.
A door, previously a seamless part of the wall, had been opened. Three men appeared from the lamp-lit hallway inside. Marat stepped forward, placing himself between them and Val without accusation.
“Greetings.” One of them said, stepping up to Marat and the men greeted each other by gripping the other’s forearm instead of hand.
The other man’s eyes settled on Val, curiosity breaking through his masterfully crafted professional expression. “I am Iros, High Templar in the court of Typhonos.”
“All-Father save you,” Marat answered in greeting. Val could not help but notice that his shoulders straightened, and his tone became different than before.
“You know why I am here.” It was not a question.
“I do.” Marat nodded.
“Then you know I cannot allow you inside the gates.”
“I do.”
Val’s blood grew cold at the words.
“It is with deep regret, I am sure you understand. My King does not take pleasure in this. But, the treaties have been made in good faith.” Iros’ eyes rested on Val again.
The man was tall, well-groomed, and held himself with authority without a hint of ego. He was of a fatherly age. His clothes were woven and sewn of wool and silk, a golden lion crest embroidered onto his collar and cuffs. Had she laid eyes on him before she ever saw Johannes in his flashy clothes and faux gold, she would have thought Iros the prince.
He held her eyes for a moment too long, and Marat noticed the pause.
“We understand.” He said, rougher now, more adamant to get to the point. Iros looked back at him.
“We still wish to come to your aid.” His voice lowered ever so slightly. “There is a place. It runs outside the mountain range between the West and the North, facing the northern forests where the Crimson River meets the mountains. Do you know what I speak of?”
“I do.”
“It has belonged to neither west nor north since the states had divided. It remains so to this day. We cannot keep you out, nor can we stop the soldiers from coming. But, to invade it would mean breaking the covenant and severing all ties with the West.” Iros motioned for the other men to come forward.
They laid down supplies and skins full of water at Val’s feet. There were well-crafted leather boots, new clothes, and a small medical kit full of bandages and iodine.
But the last gift was a finely crafted longbow - made out of osage orange tree and hickory, with an engraved leather grip. It was strung and oiled, and Val saw that Marat’s eyes had gotten wide at the sight of it.
Iros saw it, too.
“All-Father’s Reach,” Iros said. “Your skills as a marksman have preceded your arrival by many years, but your impression on the King had not. It was crafted for your height and your arm span.”
Val’s eyes were on Marat, but his on the longbow. She thought he might tear up the way he looked at it.
With such kindness in the face of devastating news, Typhonos had found a way to keep his promises in ways that neither expected.
“Tell the King his generosity and goodwill will not be forgotten,” Marat said.
“Rest assured, they will not,” Iros replied, a strange note in his voice.
Nodding their goodbyes, the three turned to the door. Except for Iros, as he had paused. His eyes were on the bow, but his words were on Valeria.
“Keep her safe, templar.”
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