Boah nearly tripped as the ceiling rumbled above. He’d heard many on his journey down the spiraling staircase underneath Urash’s room, but none as long or as sustained. He feared it was the Manor, finally collapsing in on itself. Briefly, he wondered if anyone escaped.

But there was no place safe in Ash. If there were any left, they would not be for long.

“They’ll be fine,” Boah reassured himself in his mind.

Boah saw the faint glimmer of Juddken’s torch about fifty steps below him, dimming as it descended. Boah pressed his hand against the wall, steadying himself until the rumbling ceased. The last thing he needed was to fall. He would wait this out.

But the full weight of the morning hit Boah at once. He couldn’t ignore the reality that he was now living in. He needed to catch his breath.

Everything had been going to plan. Appo, despite his best efforts, failed to cull the crowd. Boah knew that if he had enough time, they all would have come to their senses. But then there was the explosion and all that debris. Boah had been more fortunate than Harran, whose skull had been caved in by a block of mud-brick. He kept seeing his mentor’s bloodstained mustache. A man he knew for his entire life, dead in an instant.

“They’ll be fine,” he repeated.

Boah had run to Urash’s room, the one place he knew would be safe from the burning and the screamers. But he saw Thed run after him. He saw him yell to wait, as if it would make a difference. Boah closed the door on him, ignoring the pounding of Thed's fists and desperate cries.

Boah left them all to die. Every one. He would have to accept that.

Finally, the rumbling ceased. Boah gradually released his hand from the bumpy walls and motioned downward. Juddken’s torch had long since vanished. He’d have to catch up.

Boah’s thoughts returned to Appo. Not only to how he survived, but how he bested him. They’d planned it for weeks, Boah realized. Perhaps Appo worked with Urash the entire time, having stowed him safely underground while the plague spread. It was the only way they could’ve done it.

But Boah conceded: however they did it, it worked. He’d lost everything.

Except Juddken. Boah still had him, for what that was worth.

For the first time in a long time, Boah thought back to his wife. Iamaya Awil-Ishtar was everything Boah was not. She had too much hair. She lost herself in poetry and scripture. She was a good mother. He tried to recall Juddken bouncing on her lap when he was a boy, giggling at the absurd songs she would sing. Juddken was never the same after she died. In a way, Boah was never the same either.

Boah tried to recall her face. A little more than a tracing of a tracing, now. He’d long said his biggest regret was that Namshi never painted her before he lost his mind. Boah had always just said it, hoping it'd make him appear more empathetic. But as he trudged down the steps, he recalled he’d always meant it.

Maybe if he caught up to Juddken, he would see it again. Just a spark of Iamaya. It would be enough.

Eventually, Boah reached the bottom of the stairs. As he leaned against the wall, he saw Juddken staring down the triangular pathway, murmuring silently to himself like he always did.

Boah focused on that triangular pathway. An epiphany hit him, and suddenly the world made slightly more sense. “That must be how the healer did it!” Boah said, trying to get Juddken’s attention. “He came from there! Urash always said it led to the Temple, but what if it was just where he hid the healer this whole time?!” Boah laughed loudly, his voice filling up the entire chamber.

Juddken paid no mind. He continued looking down the tunnel, pursing his lips endlessly. Boah might as well have been on another plane.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“Hmph,” Boah exclaimed, realizing the lost cause. “It doesn’t matter. We’re alive! And the prisoners have already cleared out much of the tunnel. I’ve already figured out what to do next… Many years ago, Mendalla filed a claim with a reputable bank in Beyshran. The payout we could receive for the damages… We could be wealthy for the rest of our lives! We’ll move to Jyväsk, spending our days courting with the Rosewoods and the Albrechts! Imagine what we could do there!”

Little of what Boah said seemed to register to Juddken. He stared into the triangular void.

“Juddken?” Boah said, patting his shoulder. “We can do this. Just… listen to what I say.” There was no reaction.

“We’ll be fine.”

Juddken lurched forward. He crouched, heading towards the triangular passageway. “What are you doing?” Boah asked. “Listen to me when I’m talking to you!” It was no use.

Boah reached out, gripping Juddken’s shoulders and throwing him against the wall. “Don’t you dare walk away from me you-”

Juddken pulled out a knife, sticking it directly under Boah’s apple. Boah hesitated, refusing to give Juddken an inch. He looked at the boy’s gaunt features, his sunken eyes and dilated pupils. There was no trace of Iamaya anywhere. He had as much humanity as a lizard.

Boah slowly realized his grasp. Before dropping his knife, Juddken hissed at him. He then turned away, crouching below the tunnel.

Boah felt his lower lip quiver, the power in his voice rising to a crescendo. “Fine then, boy! You’re just as worthless as I thought! Useless waste of space… You never amounted to anything until you started carving up bodies!”

Juddken ignored his father. He crawled forth through the triangular space, vanishing into the dark.

“I’ll be fine.”

Boah cursed until his voice gave out. He stomped and ranted and threw his fists against the walls. He refused to follow, instead making his way back to the crawl space.

“Who needs him?” Boah reassured himself. “I’ll start it all over. I’ll find a new wife, sire new children who can complete a fucking sentence.”

Before making it too deep in the crawl space, Boah tripped over a pile of rocks. He lowered his torch, recoiling when he realized it was a body, already purplish and stiffened by rigor mortis. He took a deep breath before lowering the torch again. After uncovering a few of the rocks, he recognized who it was.

“Heikk,” Boah said. “Of course. How clever.” The body was naked, thanks to the healer taking his clothes. Boah kicked an errant rock out of the way, its toss echoing off the walls.

The more Boah considered it all, the more his mind wandered elsewhere. He realized it couldn’t have possibly been just the healer. Or Urash. Or Heikk or any of the poor souls who died alongside him. No, it had to have been the slave. Jere, who he had sent to meet the healer almost a month prior. Jere, who was so smart and methodical. That was why Boah had bought him, after all. He was ahead of him every step of the way.

Boah laughed. “Just one problem with that, slave: you didn’t kill me.”

Boah moved along the cramped tunnel, ranting to himself. He ignored the rows of pipes along the wall, moving straight to the pile of rocks at the end of the tunnel. He even pushed past the dripping water. Besides, who else knew thirst like he did? He, who conquered water trading as a boy. He, who survived droughts before he could even stand.

“Once I get my coin, oh, just you wait,” Boah proclaimed as he picked up the nearby metal rod and slammed it into the rock. “You’ll never escape me, slave. I’ll hunt you until the day you die.” He slammed it again. “You’ll reminisce of the days I owned you.”

Boah slammed the rod one last time, and the large boulder came loose, tumbling to the ground beside him. He could stay here for days if he had to. Weeks even. Whatever it took to dig his way out, he would do it. He had his own will. How had he gotten this far, anyway? He had begged for money on the street. He got out under the thumb of his pathetic father. He married himself into a dynasty and funded his own education. Boah Awil-Ishtar was the ‘Big Man for the Little People,’ the man who came from nothing to rule the entire city of Ash.

“I’ll be fine.”

Another rock came loose, this one much easier. The wall shifted above him, and the rumbling noise returned. Boah wondered how he could still hear the explosions so far up above him. But he paid no mind, slamming his rod once more into the wall.

Several boulders collapsed above Boah, and in an instant, a gush of water burst from above. He had never felt such a force of power. The water slammed Boah forward, trapping him against the wall he had just attempted to dig out of. Boah pushed back, but it was no use. The gushing grew stronger.

Boah tried to kick his way out, his body trapped against the rocks. He shook his head, trying with all his might to spit out the water. But the hole above him was grew larger, the column of water heavier.

Boah held his breath as long as he could. From all his years of speaking, he had stronger lungs than most. But even then, he only held out for a minute. His lungs cried out at him, and the pressure against his chest intensified. Boah opened his mouth and the water rushed in.

And so it was that Boah Awil-Ishtar, once the High Priest of Ash and the Head of the Awil-Ishtar Jewelry trade, became the first man in a hundred years to drown in the Eivettä.