Brunhilde was a strong swimmer, but keeping herself and Hope afloat in the roaring river exhausted her. The water overcame her, debris crashed against her and confused her. They both sank under the muddy deluge.
Then there was light, as Hope formed a shield over them, a half bubble of protection. It was angled against the force of the river so that a pocket of air formed underneath it. They were able to crouch on the riverbed.
Brunhilde stood. The river bed was muddy and grasping, but she put her arm round Hope and pushed towards what she hoped was the bank. She felt the rumble of the water against Hope’s shield, and wondered how long the magic could last. The sodden earth of the bank was crumbling into the river but Brunhilde managed to force herself up, pulling Hope with her. They broke out of the water, and found themselves clinging to the walls of a valley. The river has pulled them down into a gorge.
She considered the wall above, there were too many overhangs to make it up. The storm-furious river had eaten away at the earth and stone over the years, cutting a groove deep into the base of the walls. They would have to wait here for the waters to calm, or find another way out. Hope clung to her.
She put her hand palm upwards and curved her fingers up to make a cup-like shape. Hope understood her gesture, she summoned her shield, but now it was curved upwards like a coracle. They collapsed into it and the waters took them on into the canyon.
If they had not been in mortal danger Brunhilde would have enjoyed the ride. Their coracle bounced and spun on the heaving waters. She clung to the craft and watched for a sign of a larger bank to rest on. At least they were protected somewhat from the storm by the canyon walls. Occasionally a creature from the storm would spiral down towards them, but explode against the stone or in the river. She licked her lips, which were parched dry. Surrounded by water and dying of thirst.
They were still trapped in the canyon when she saw that ahead the river was disappearing into a huge crack in the earth. They would have to escape here or drop into the unknown dark and be doomed for sure. They may have a chance. Thick stone fingers rose up out of the water as it flowed into the underground, and above the fingers was an immense block of stone. It was a dam, built like a great hand that could sink down to block the underground escape rout of the river. They may be able to cling onto those bars and scale the top of the dam.
She held out her long arms as they came toward the bars, close enough to see they were as thick as pillars in a giant’s temple. The eddies took their craft so close it scraped against the bar and she quickly clambered into it. It was slick and wet, but rough hewn and climbable. She thanked Mother Snow and pulled Hope towards her.
Hope threw her arms around Brunhilde’s neck and clung to her like a baby. Brunhilde hefted them up and carefully edged her way up. It was slow and dangerous. Her heart would not stop pounding and her fingertips felt numb with exertion. But her family was filled with magic from the earth, she had climbed the walls of her longhouse as a toddler, and conquered the tallest mountain on her quest for adulthood. She wouldn’t fall now, even if she had to gnaw out handholds with her teeth. Brunhilde the rock-biter, they would call her.
She made it to the top of the bar and felt the surface of the dam angle away from her. She sighed deeply in relief. It was much easier to climb this; there was no gnawing of rocks today. She reached the top of the dam and let Hope climb onto the wide top of it, before she rolled onto it, her strength spent.
They were on solid rock. They could rest. Inside the canyon the howls of the wind were stronger, but they were sheltered from the rain. They both fell unconscious.
Hope awoke slowly. Her body was bruised and lifeless. Her tattoos had little power. She had exhausted her body and magic in that trial. She rolled onto her side. She saw Brunhilde beside her, deep in sleep. Relieved, Hope fell back into sleep.
She was awoken again by Brunhilde shaking her gently. The Barbarian was sitting with her arms resting on her legs, bruised and soaked with water as she was. She squeezed water from her long red braids. The wind still blew but the rain had slowed and was drizzling down.
“This is a place,” Brunhilde said.
Hope sat up. Her head was still pounding with noise and pain. “Are we safe?”
“From the river. I’m dying of thirst though.” Brunhilde’s lips were cracked and her mouth was sandy dry.
Hope squeezed water from her robe to sip. She was thirsty as well. “Rain that makes you thirsty. This is an evil storm.”
“There’s shelter that way.” Brunhilde pointed to the edge of a dam, where a door was carved into the stone wall. “This is a city.”
Hope saw what Brunhilde meant. The dam protected a city carved into the red sandstone walls of the canyon ahead. There were ledges carved at many heights, the walls covered with repeating whorls of patterns, and the overhang above them carved and polished into gentle curves like the underside of clouds. There were doorways carved into the walls. There were outcrops of rock with thick stone posts on them, long ago they had held bridges between the two walls but the rope and wood had rotted and disappeared.
Below them the canyon floor was dry, but the walls there had been carved into giant trees, as if they were holding up the city above. It was a city and a work of art, made in cherry-red sandstone. The far end of the canyon curved away, hinting that the city continued even longer. Hope looked down at the river gurgling into the depths, then looked away with dizziness. If this dam were dropped it would allow the river to flow into the roots of the city, a clever way to protect it from storms and control how much water it would receive. But the dam was raised and the storms tears were being swallowed by the earth, leaving the city dry.
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The storm was dying now, it had reached as far south as it could and had spent its fury. They were alone on the flat top of the dam, but there was a doorway either side of the dam, entrances into the city. So, they struggled to their feet and headed for a door.
The great walls of the canyon made a perfect shelter against the remains of the storm, the doorway was dry and inviting. But they were stopped by the sight of a guard lying across the doorway. Or more accurately, a suit of armour wrapped around a dried and bony body. Brunhilde crouched over it and gently moved the body. It was centuries old, the skin dried and shrunken so that it could have been bones wrapped in paper. It felt like dried leather under her fingers.
His armour was fine chain, caked in dirt. Brunhilde rubbed away a chunk of dried dust to see that the armour was free from rust.
“May the stars remember your story, warrior.” She took its spear and laid it across the warrior’s chest. She left the guard to its rest entered the doorway carefully. She felt as thirsty as dry bones herself.
They stepped over to explore the darkness beyond. They were so desperate for shelter, that neither of them noticed the water that dropped from their bodies and pooled in their path onto the body of the guard. If they had stopped to look, they would have seen its skin drink in the water like a sponge, expanding and becoming flushed with colour. And if they had waited longer, they would have seen its hand, fully refreshed, flex and scrabble for more water on the stone. But they were thirsty and tired and eager for proper shelter.
The city was dug deep into the walls. There were spiral staircases leading to other levels, common rooms and trading places, and of course homes. Every archway into a house was unique, hinting at the personality of the family that lived there. Some were simple and functional, others jagged and eye-catching. Inside some they found the remains of the citizens. Dried skin down to their bones, just as the guard, clutching each other.
Hope had enough light left to light their way, there was no sign of how the denizens saw in these tunnels. She felt something in the air, and led them through the tunnels to a sealed door. A chunky magic sigil was carved into it.
“A mage’s workshop.” Hope stroked her hand over the door, and with a tiny leftover fragment of power she broke the seal. It flashed and faded from the door. She waited but it did not open.
Brunhilde pushed. The doorway swung inwards on a track. “Sometimes we have to use our muscles.”
It was a hexagonal chamber with a large table and arcane implements around the walls. Small alcoves, like a wine-rack, honeycombed the far wall. Brunhilde raced to it, but found only reed tubes. “When will I find a drink?”
“You oaf.” Hope took the tube and unstopped the end. The scroll inside was old and thin, covered in magical symbols unknown to her. “This is a fine trove of magic.” She took a few more scrolls and glanced over them. Some crumbled into flakes if she unrolled them without caution.
“Where is the wine? Or water would do.” Brunhilde slumped onto the floor.
“Don’t sulk. Do you expect a mage’s study to be filled with drink? What use is wine over knowledge?”
“Drink is a path to knowledge. I’ve shared secrets with my kin that could never be spilled by sober lips. Inebriate a God and he’ll blaspheme himself.”
“Very philosophical.” Hope sorted through the racks until she found designs of the city. “This will show us how to get out.”
She spread out the map. Despite her disdain for surface magic and technology, she was impressed by this city. “This is the perfect place to defend. No tunnels to the surface. The only way in is the river, when it flows, or out through these gates at the other end of the city.” She pointed to the edge of the city. “This city is almost half a league long.”
“You could climb down from the top of the canyon.”
“And get picked off by archers. There is no way a full army can enter this city. This dam is very clever. When the river flows, they could lower it and let the waters in, but if a fleet tried to ride down on the river, they just raised the stone and let them get sucked down into the depths.”
“Like we almost did. Giantshit, I’m thirsty! Where do they keep their water?”
“I’m thirsty as well, this looks like the nearest commons area, with a fountain in it.” Hope found another place on the map.
They found the place, even in their battered exhaustion their steps fastened at the thought of fresh water. But they saw that the fountain, which must have been a place filled with life, was now a gathering place for the dead. The fountain was dry and still. Citizens lay around it in piles.
Brunhilde shivered. “So many stories lost.” A shudder passed through her. The sight of families lying here in the dark made her think of her own family. She wiped tears from her eyes, stupid to waste water like this. She turned her back to Hope and picked her way past the bodies to clamber into the circle of the fountain pool. She climbed up and peered down the central spout. Dark and bone dry. She rested there and sniffled, wiping her face until it was dry.
She looked down and saw that she was standing on the head of an ugly creature.
“Look at these.” A thrill of recognition passed through her. She had seen a face like this in the rain.
When Hope came closer, she saw the central pillar of the fountain was carved with snake bodies, grasping claws and wild eyes. The same creatures that had attacked them were wrapped around the column. Vicious looking but carved with such artistry to make their wriggling forms vibrant and beautiful. Creatures of the storm that brought life to the fountain, not death. With Hope’s light they saw that the things were rushing along a spiral of water, pushing it up into the air, or being lifted up by it.
“Those are the same things that attacked us. Guardian beasts gone mad? Or protectors of the city?” Hope’s mouth felt even drier at the sight of carved water.
“I don’t like this place. Get us out of here, goldhair.” Brunhilde dropped down.
“The gates are worked by hydraulics.”
“I’ve never fought a hydra.”
“Hydraulics, water pressure. We need to lower the dam to power the opening mechanism. We’ll go to the control centre. I memorised the map.”
“How do you get so much knowledge from all those squiggles?” Brunhilde’s head ached when she remembered the horrible symbols Hope had tried to make her copy. The way Hope could absorb so much knowledge from lines and tangles was like reading the future from the dance of ants.
“I’ve read more books than you’ve cracked skulls.”
“I would bet against that if it were anyone else, goldhair, but you have a lot of ideas in that princess brain.”
Hope smiled smugly and led them to lower the dam.